


If You Dare

by Blapblaps



Category: Handsome Devil (2016)
Genre: Angst, Character Development, Developing Relationship, Fluff, Friendship, Homophobic Language, M/M, Mutual Pining, My first fic, Ned starts journaling, Romance, Roommates, Slow Burn, Underage Drinking, canon typical homophobia, group chats, just long storytelling, no one keeps track of these boys, obviously, post movie events, school pranks, there's no one in this fandom so it's really just self indulgent, this is gonna be hella drawn out, weasel being an antagonist
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-03
Updated: 2019-10-24
Packaged: 2019-11-08 13:10:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 30
Words: 197,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17981969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blapblaps/pseuds/Blapblaps
Summary: Ned and Conor try to navigate life in school and their feelings for each other after coming out,with lots of extra pining, drama, and internal dialogue cause the movie just wasn't enough for me.This takes place after the events of the Senior Cup, and will go pretty much throughout the whole year. New characters, new problems, new plot lines!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fanfic since like, 2012, so bear with me. Also, I know nothing about school (much less boarding school) in the UK. Also, Irish culture? Completely foreign. I'm gonna be exploring some character backstory too.
> 
> The first chapter's kind of all over the place, but it'll become more cohesive, no worries.

In the years leading up to that fateful year, and that fateful day, Ned had learned to keep his head down, eyes lowered to the ground. He learned at an early age that he walked at a different pace than the rest of the world; at least the world around him. It seemed that everyone in his vicinity lived and acted and thought and spoke in a way that he understood, but was born to deny. And somehow, everyone in his little world also knew this about him. His parents, teachers, and kids at his school appeared to know that it was predetermined that Ned was never going to fit in quite right, and acted accordingly.

 

When he was eight, and his dad took him to the park to try and coax him into playing with the other boys in his neighborhood, all he wanted to do was sit in the grass by the fence, pulling up weeds from the roots. It’s not that he didn’t enjoy running around and wearing himself out as much as any other boy, but there was a group of kids from his school by the slide, and he already knew they were trouble. Out of the corner of his eye, he witnessed one boy shove another straight off the risen platform just as his dad was saying, “Come on son, don’t you want to play with some of the other kids?”

Deciding to stay silent, the biggest kid from the group very unfortunately caught Ned’s eye, and consulted the group before sauntering over to where Ned was perched in the grass. Ned’s dad leaned over and said, “See, he’s coming over to invite you. Stand up now, there’s a good lad, and I’ll catch up with you later.” By the time Ned looked up to protest, his dad was already wandering off, pulling a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket. Ned stood up, already almost face to face with the new boy and his friends.

“You by yourself?” To eight year old Ned, the boy was probably ten feet taller than him, and had a mean sneer across his face. Ned looked up at him, but said nothing.

The boy got even closer to him, and Ned could see all the freckles on his face. He gave Ned a little shove, and he tried to keep himself upward, his stomach starting to tie up in a knot. “What’re you doin’ all by yourself, you little freak? Have to have your dad hang around with you?” He nodded to the small but menacing group and pushed a little harder. “Huh? Can’t talk?” They all circled around Ned, and after a final shove, he fell to the ground. Ned closed his eyes and suddenly he felt a kick to his stomach, leaving him breathless. The group of kids laughed, but Ned, keeping his eyes squeezed shut, could hear them walking away, following their leader. 

It was after that, that Ned learned that he was undeniably different, and had no idea what made him so. 

He never remembered making any conscious decision to feel or act any other way, but it seemed that his aloneness had already been decided by some outside force, simply out of his control. 

______________________________________________________________________________

 

The start of the 2016 school year was no different. He came in with low hopes and a quiet, reluctant hesitation to walk through the doors at all. All he could do was pray that if he kept his head down a little longer, physically and metaphorically, he could slip past this year, unnoticed. That, or get expelled, whichever happened to befall him first. 

The tentative misconceptions of a quiet year lasted from the doors all the way up the stairs, through the beginning of the year assembly, to be stopped abruptly in the doorway to his room, where he found the rugby player doing press ups on his floor, and vanished completely.

 

He didn’t think his heart could pound out of his chest so consistently without cardiac arrest in such a short time frame as the weeks leading up to the final game. Every single one of his expectations had been shattered before him, and all he could do was watch. Watch in amazement as the rugby player he’d only just begun to care about stride across the field as though he hadn’t completely upturned Ned’s life in the blink of an eye. In the minutes of that game, he felt the adrenaline of everyone on the team and in the stadium, but when Conor kicked that final shot, there was only silence. The world seemed to stop and explode all at the same time as the crowd burst into flames.

And Ned remembered to look up.

______________________________________________________________________________

 

He had no idea what any of the events leading up to this meant, or where he was going to go with his eyes pointed up at the sky, but he couldn’t deny this primal happiness that was shared with Conor, their arms tightly wrapped around each other and his teammates shouting incomprehensibly in their ears. Underneath his euphoria, Ned knew that he shouldn’t do the thing he so desperately wanted to, and instead let Conor be pulled away, and watch the celebration from more of a distance. But not before he looked into Conor’s eyes, delirious with happiness, and knew that something even more unpredictable had just begun.

The whole team was going for drinks, and knowing that what would follow would be just a mess of drunken shenanigans, Ned decided to go back into town and sit with himself to deliberate. That, and he had to eventually get in touch with his dad after making his escape on the road. On his way out of the chaos of this aftermath, he saw Mr Sherry. And what looked to be...Mr Sherry’s boyfriend. Walking toward them, still unable to wipe the smile off of his face, he approached them.

“Hey, Mr Sherry.” He said over the crowd.   
“Ned! Glad to see you turned up after all. And apparently getting into the spirit.” He grinned at the school jersey Ned was wearing and motioned towards the man holding his hand. “This is Arthur, my partner.” They shook hands. “Are you joining the celebration?”

Ned averted his eyes. “Um, I actually need to catch up with my dad. Kinda jumped out a moving car to get here so…”

“Ah.” Mr Sherry eyed him and leaned forward slightly. “Listen, I’m going to see if I can talk to Walter about you and your place at the school. See what I can do.” He smiled at Ned knowingly. If he was honest, Ned felt impossibly hopeful, and felt he could take on any obstacle or adult that was flung his way. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are still rollin'.

Ned spent the next few hours wandering around town, coming down from the days events and trying to calculate where to go from here. Was he expelled for sure this time? Would he still have to go home? He dad was definitely gonna murder him. If he was allowed back at the school as soon as he wanted, what kind of punishment would they give him? He couldn’t believe that he actually wanted to go back to school. What happened to learning guitar and becoming a bum? As he paced around the quiet streets, he couldn’t bring himself to regret any of it. He wanted to go back to school soon for two reasons. First was, predictably, Conor. He couldn’t begin to try to understand or predict what their relationship would look like after all this, but he knew for certain that he couldn’t let whatever was happening with the two of them fizzle out. He felt such a high when he thought about Conor on this chilly night, and the gravitational pull he felt towards him was only growing stronger. The second was purely logical; he knew that if his face disappeared at the school now only to come back later, all the attention would be focused on him.

Yes, absolutely for the love of God, yes, he regretted what he did. After walking off the stage in the auditorium and swaggering out the door, the feeling of dread and misery washed over him. That particular high faded as fast as the moment had lasted. But surely, they wouldn’t expel him for it now. If Conor was anyone other than the star player who just won the final, Ned wouldn’t stand a chance. But really, Ned had just had enough of all of the bullying and hiding and secrets and needed to get revenge on the world and how things are! He wanted to shout the truth from the fucking rooftops and he didn’t care who heard. 

In the moment.

Now, however, and just about every moment since it happened, he couldn’t feel more sorry. Everyone pretty much knew that Ned was gay; water is wet, after all. So Ned never felt the need to try so hard to prove anything, especially when it was already so obvious that he never wanted to fit in. Conor, on the other hand, was already trying to run away from all that. He’d apparently been through it all before, and Ned felt like he pushed him right back into it. How could he make that up to Conor? What had Ned unintentionally started?

Well, whatever happened in the next twenty-four hours needed to happen already, as the ever dropping temperature was starting to settle into his bones, a decision needed to be made. He had found himself outside of a convenience store, conveniently, and decided to ask the clerk where he could find a phone while getting some loose tobacco. They didn’t allow phones in that particular boarding school (i.e prison) in the middle of nowhere, and his dad surely wasn’t going to let him have his back now. 

Later, smoking outside and waiting for his dad who was no doubt beside himself with anger, Ned wondered how his life had become a gay teen drama. As much as he dreamed about a life away from normal, greyed out people, a life filled with risk and excitement, he never would have thought he’d find himself at the center of so much chaos and change. But in a building full of sexually frustrated, hormonal teenage boys in the middle of the countryside, maybe he shouldn’t be so surprised.

______________________________________________________________________________

 

For this first time in a long time, Conor let himself get truly, properly, drunk. Drunk in a way that was giddy, and pure. Before, alcohol was something he took in as a gesture of anger, resentment, and a way to storm away from his emotions. In a similarly gut wrenching way, it connected him to what he hated about his father. But tonight, so determined to feel this elation for as long as he could, he wasn’t drinking to forget. He was drinking to celebrate. 

In their sheer delight, his teammates couldn’t seem to stop touching him. In between every sip, there was someone even drunker, patting his back, slamming in for a hug, wrapping an arm around him, and once, slapping his ass. For once, he let all of his doubts fade away, and enjoyed being the star. There wasn’t anything that could bring down this feeling.

However, after he started to lose count of how many beers he’d had and his mates were starting to slow down, he thought of a pair of eyes he hadn’t seen since the end of the game. Looking around him, he couldn’t see Ned even slightly enjoying this atmosphere, but Conor realized that he was wishing for a quiet moment, another moment of honesty. Would he be seeing Ned at school again? Would they still be roomates? He’d have to take down that flimsy barrier in their room, he knew he never wanted a wall between them. In his hazy thoughts, Conor wished he could contact his best friend, tell him that he still wanted him in his life. He wanted to talk to Walter as soon as he could, but was extremely grateful that the headmaster was nowhere to be found, as sweaty and wasted him and these fools were. 

Even though he definitely needed to think about what happened between them, Ned was still the only person that looked at him with complete honesty and wonder. 

______________________________________________________________________________

 

Two days later on Monday, Conor hasn’t been assigned a new roommate, and he’s long since taken down the banner and thought about what he wants to say to Ned. Bright and early that morning, he got dressed and made his way to the headmaster’s office, ready to vouch for his friend. He entered upon knocking, and after looking into Walter’s steely eyes, took a deep breath. Wanting to get straight to the point, the words tumbled out of his mouth.

“Sir, I don’t think you should expel Ned.”

Walter leaned back in his chair and looked at Conor over his desk. “Is that so, Mr Masters?”

Conor prepared to make his case. “Yes sir. About what happened during the prep rally, I’m not angry about it. I mean, you must have heard about what happened in the locker room after I showed up to the game.” He paused, and Walter gave a slight nod. “Well, me and Ned are good. He’s the reason I went to play the final in the first place. After I um...left…” He nervously averted his eyes as the headmaster raised his eyebrows. “He found me and brought my bag to me. I wouldn’t have done it without him.”

Walter waited a moment before speaking. “Regarding your departure from campus that night, that was incredibly irresponsible. I have spoken to your parents, and we’ve agreed on a punishment for you as well.” His tone was stern, but Conor could detect a hint of warmth in his voice when he looked up again.

“And, sir?”

“We’ve agreed that you’ll serve detention for a week, and banned from all off campus excursions for a month. Your mother wanted you to be suspended from Rugby, but Pascal very well won’t be having that.” Conor could see him repressing a smirk, as if to say it was hardly a possibility. “Although, you must understand how it makes me look as head of this school when a student goes missing without a trace and I have to contact parents without answers.” This was all he needed to say, for Conor was looking apologetically at the floor.

“Yes sir, I understand. It won’t happen again.” He waited a few moments before he couldn’t help but ask, “Sir, and have you already decided about Ned?”

The headmaster stood up from his chair and began to walk towards the door, prompting Conor to do the same. “Ned will be returning. His punishment is to be determined, but I’ll need a guarantee from him that that little outburst of his will be his last. No more stealing megaphones and running into traffic.”

Conor gave a weak laugh as he was ushered out the door. “Right, sir. Thank you.”

______________________________________________________________________________

 

After four days of sudden, but continual lectures from his dad, and unconcerned silence from Natalie, Ned was once again walking through the doors of Woodhill College. It’s as about as soon as he could hope for, but he knew long before they were driving down the concrete road that that his ostracization was far from over. Really, all he wanted was to pretend like he didn’t just have a life changing experience and talk to Conor. There was this pressure that had been building up inside of him since his dad picked him up that night, and if he waited any longer with all of this on his chest, he thought he might burst. 

It seemed that there was rarely a place in this school that wasn’t jam packed with young, restless european boys, all fighting to release some infinite energy. As he expected, all eyes were on Ned as soon as he entered the building. He diligently made his way through the opening hall as quickly as he could while trying to look like he was anything but bothered. He had a carefully thought out plan, with separate contingency plans based on different outcomes. Worst case scenario, he got jumped after diving into the crowd, and he could try to weave his way through the throng and jump out the nearest window. Fortunately, the crowd of boys simply hushed, and the eyes on him weren’t exactly predatory. Predictably, he heard of few of the familiarly obnoxious crowing noises that had something to do with homosexuality trail after him as he marched his way to his dorm.

 

When he began to carry his bag up the stairs to the dorms, he saw the last person he wanted to see that day, or at least the person he would have preferred to see later. Weasel seemed to sense his presence before he even finished making his way to the top of the steps, turning around and looking directly into Ned’s eyes. With as much confidence and nonchalance as he could muster, Ned walked right his way. For a moment, it looked as though he was going to open his mouth, ready to pounce with a whole list of shit to say. Yet as he stepped closer, Weasel also seemed to be aware of the presence of Victor and Wallace behind him, who were looking at Weasel almost as intently as he was looking at Ned. That must have been enough to deter any immediate conflict between them, as Weasel apparently thought a menacing glare in Ned’s direction was good enough, and Ned continued to walk right on by.

Ned hoped his sigh of relief wasn’t too audible when he was a few feet away at last, but he hadn’t even realized that he’d been holding his breath until he felt as safe as he could get in these halls. As fast as he could while attempting to look at least a little casual, Ned continued his journey with his pulse beginning to race. Was he really prepared to see Conor all of a sudden? He was surprised that they were still assigned to live together. Was that coincidence, or an oversight? Would no one else room with Ned after what he had done? It’s not like he’d want to room with anyone else in the world anyway, so he wasn’t necessarily complaining. But what would happen when it becomes common knowledge that they’re still roommates after what was said?   

Deep into his train of thought, Ned was shocked to find himself suddenly in the open doorway of his room, immediately in the presence of Conor and Keith Shaffrey, every one of them caught off guard. 

 


	3. Chapter 3

“Er...Hi.”  
Pure poetry, that is. Good one, Ned.

Ned only gaped at them, shocked by his own intrusion for a second before slowly putting his bag on the floor and leaning against the doorframe. Conor looked as surprised as Ned felt, and it made him feel slightly better to see Conor with his mouth stupidly open, cut off from whatever he was saying. Keith just looked between them both for a moment and sighed, shaking his head and after slapping Conor on the shoulder, taking his leave. He gave Ned one look as he walked out the narrow doorway, and they were alone. 

Deciding to make some kind of motion, Ned walked in and closed the door behind him, not caring too much yet about what others would say about that, and sat on his bed directly across from Conor.

“I guess I never got to really say congratulations on the game.” Ned looked at Conor sheepishly, the look on his face giving away his nerves completely.

Conor leaned forward and held his hands together, keeping his eyes on Ned. “By the looks of it, you seemed to be pretty into it.” He said with a small smile on his face.

“I mean yeah, after all the shit that went down, I guess I got carried away.” There was the shortest of silences before Ned couldn’t keep the words in any longer. “Listen Conor, I’m so sorry about what I did. That was so not cool of me to say what I said in front of everybody. I was so angry about being pushed around all the time, and...after I found out, I was pissed that...we weren’t the same. You know? Like, we’re both ‘different,’ but for some reason I’m the one on the outside and everyone’s on your side. But I shouldn’t have told everyone. If anything, I should’ve told you first that I knew.”

Ned didn’t realize it, but Conor’s eyes were on him the whole time. “How did you know?”

The night of the quarterfinal, when I told you I wasn’t going, I hopped on the bus to get into town. After the game, I saw you walking to a bar. I tried to follow you in, but the bouncer wouldn’t let me in, and then I just sort of put two and two together.” Ned waited another moment and then added, “You knew from the start that I’m gay. Why didn’t you tell me?”

For the first time, Conor looked away from Ned. “I dunno, I guess I didn’t know what would happen. When everyone at St Barts found out, I couldn’t escape it.” Ned bit his lip. “I thought I couldn’t risk anybody finding out again, so it would be easier to just not tell anyone. And then..” He took a deep breath. “Weasel said some shit to me about having a cousin from my old school who told him about the fighting. And I just had to get away from it. Sorry I bailed on you at the variety show.”

Ned couldn’t help but laugh suddenly. “Yeah man, that was an absolute trainwreck, thanks for that. And I thought that was the most embarrassing thing I’d have to recover from, too.” Conor gave him a guilty smile. “But I guess that makes us even.”  
Conor didn’t seem satisfied, however. “Not quite. I’m sorry about that shithead Weasel the night of the fire. I didn’t stand up for you like I should’ve. I was too scared about what they were all thinking of me.”

“I was scared, too.” Ned didn’t want to admit quite yet how he felt that night, surrounded by malicious boys for what definitely wasn’t the first time, and probably not the last time. He felt so alone looking into Conor’s eyes, but he hadn’t backed up once. He just wanted the truth, to know that Conor was different than the rest of their peers, than the rest of the world. They had become friends, after all. He looked into Conor’s eyes again.

“So, you get off scot-free after the game?”

Conor leaned back against the wall on his bed. “Not a chance. Got a week’s detention and I can’t leave for a month. Still get to play, though.”

“Yeah, no shit, they wouldn’t bench you. Everyone thinks you must be the second coming of Christ now, huh?”

Conor threw his head back and laughed at that. “Yeah, pretty much. Coach was crying at the end of it, and hardly stopped all night.” Ned thought that he should start to expect more visits to their dorm, now that it was the star player’s spot, from teammates and other boys alike. “Hey. I’m glad you didn’t get expelled.” He looked into Ned’s eyes seriously, honesty in his words. “They never told me when you’d be back.”

“Yeah, they knew expelling me would be too good for me, so Walter had me come back even sooner.” Ned leaned over and picked up his guitar, grinning. “Instead I got detention for an undetermined amount of time, and the imminent wrath of the rugby team coming my way.” He kept his voice light, but deep down was seated that familiar sense of dread, only this time there was nothing he could do to prepare for what came next.

“Hey, me and the guys are all cool now. They know we’re mates, and they stood behind you too.” In the locker room, Ned felt that cohesion between all those boys. But he knew that that solidarity wasn’t really meant for him. He was by Conor’s side, but didn’t know how long the team’s willingness to ignore Ned would last. He held his guitar, knowing how stupid it was that he could find comfort in an instrument he barely knew how to play, but letting it drown out his doubts anyway.  
He smiled at Conor and said simply, “If you say so, mate.”

They spent the rest of the afternoon before dinner talking about what happened at the bar, Ned letting himself scoff at the expected nonsense of drunk rugby players high on adrenaline. Conor let Ned go on and on about his dad’s scattered lectures and useless analogies, talking plenty about young men who mopped supermarket floors. It was already comfortable, and Ned was so relieved to find out that they wouldn’t have to try so hard to get back to their regularly scheduled friendship.

______________________________________________________________________________

 

For Ned, the following week came and went with a pleasant disinterest in him from his schoolmates. He hadn’t let himself be hopeful about anything in particular before he came back, but he sighed inwardly every time a boy taller than him averted his eyes from him. He took care to not draw any attention to himself in the following days, however determinedly not doing anything drastic, like dye his hair to blend in. Conor didn’t say anything, but Ned suspected that he had talked to his teammates about leaving Ned alone. Or maybe it was simply their actions last week, that spoke for themselves and told the school that they truly were friends. 

He was however, already starting to tire of stumbling into his room to find a jock every other day. They all had practice together every day anyway, why did they need to hang out all the time, specifically in his room? During these times he simply grabbed his guitar and headed back out to his favorite hangout spot. He was dead set on learning as many guitar chords as he could, hoping to eventually write his own songs, and the rugby team was giving him plenty of space to do so. He did find himself wishing that he could spend more time with Conor, no longer having an excuse like the variety show to spend time together. But he found solace in his time spent alone, feeling free write or play to his heart’s desire. 

One day, while Ned was first learning what plucking individual strings was all about, Conor walked through the small door, inviting himself in. Ned looked up at him. “Hey stranger.”  
Conor sat himself on a chair across from him. “Hey, you’ve been hiding out down here for a while now.”

“Yeah well, I didn’t expect to have such a popular star athlete as my roommate. I swear, is there nowhere else on campus for those testosterone junkies to hang out?” His sarcasm came easily to him, but he made sure to keep the mischief in his eyes so Conor would know he wasn’t being too serious.

“Yeah, sorry about that. It’ll wear off as soon as we get back into the rhythm of things. I’m honestly starting to get pretty sick of ‘em.”

“Glad nothin’s changed.”

“I suppose. I think you and I really got through to ‘em. They’re about as friendly as a bunch of rugby players can be, but we’re still a team.”

Ned rested his chin on his guitar. “I think you’re the one who did all that. I didn’t say a word.” If he was honest, Ned was beginning to get tired of thinking about that night in the locker room.  
Conor lowered his voice ever so slightly, “I miss hanging out with you.” It came out softly, but he never once took his eyes off of Ned’s. Ned was learning that Conor had a habit of looking people directly in the eyes when he spoke.

Ned couldn’t help the smile that broke out on his face. “Yeah, me too.” He only wanted to come back for Conor after all.

“You should start coming to practices.” Conor said suddenly, confidently. 

Ned let out a loud laugh and looked away to begin aimlessly strumming. “Ha! Right.”

“No really, I’m serious. I’d really like it if you were there.” Conor always said everything so seriously when he was talking to Ned, it seemed. 

“Why would I? It’s not like I know the first thing about rugby.”

“So? You were the one that said it’s your team if I’m on it. You gotta watch your team play now and again.” Ned fought off the urge to bristle at the memory of those words. He’d meant them wholeheartedly, but they were still words thrown out in a moment of passion.   
“I’m not sure your mates would want me there.” Ned replied quietly.

“You’re my mate. Don’t even worry about them, they’ll lay off ya’.” Ned was certain that Conor had talked to the team now. He gazed suspiciously at him for a minute before sighing and saying, “Alright Conor, you got me. But you gotta come down here with me every once in a while and teach me some more chords, okay?”

Conor’s face spread into a wide grin. “Okay. Practice is tomorrow after classes, then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing dialogue is so rough! Sorry about the format changing, I'm still trying to figure out line spacing. Leave a comment if you're enjoying so far!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ned starts going to Conor's practices, and they both start to readjust to daily life

Conor couldn’t say that transitioning back into regular life had been easy. The detentions were honestly nothing, but now that he had to navigate every day as one of the only “out” students at the school, he found himself on edge, even though most of his teammates made it clear that we has one of them. The topic was beginning to fade, as no one really wanted to talk about him being gay. This was perfectly fine with Conor; he had never wanted that part of him to be thrust into the spotlight anyway. He knew that it was a large part of who he was, and still wanted nothing more than a day where he could be genuinely unafraid to be himself, but for the time being, he wanted to prove that he was more than his sexuality.

On the surface, he had made amends with Pascal. At the bar after the final, he had taken Conor aside and drunkenly slurred, tears still drying on his face, “I don’t care what you’re doin’ or who you’re doin’ it with.” He hiccuped, “As long as you’re my star boy on the field, I don’t give a goddamn.” 

Now during the day however, and on the field, he caught the coach glancing at him from the corner of his eye more frequently, and kept his conversation short and to the point. Once again, this was fine with Conor, as Pascal had an annoying habit of wanting to scare the shit out of his players. But he knew that Pascal would always see him differently, and wonder. He hadn’t tried to freeze Conor out like he suspected; Conor was just too good of a player for that. But he had felt his stomach contract whenever the word “gay” was so much as whispered around him.

But luckily, Conor’s mind had been clearer than ever, and he finally let himself fully enjoy his time of the field. Even though things still felt so uncertain, he felt a freedom that he had never experienced before. He was playing on the field, playing the game he loved, and people knew that he was gay. Conor was at the top of his game. His teammates had noticed that he was now in his element, his heart entirely focused on the energy of the game.

Well, maybe not entirely. 

Amidst all the attention that was focused on him after the final, he hardly found the time to see Ned, much less enjoy his company. Conor had fought for Ned, telling Weasel and anyone else with a bad attitude that if they lay so much as another finger on him, he wasn’t afraid to start another fight, and everyone knew it. Still, his introverted heart had begun to yearn for more quiet moments, without someone slamming into his side a thousand times a day or talking about a play they’d been over a thousand more. Ned was rarely in their room that first week back. Understandably trying to avoid the ruckus, but Conor wouldn’t deny that he missed the other boy’s presence. Once during practice, he found himself looking up at the bleachers, unconsciously scanning the faces seated up there for a flash of bright red.

I want to see him up there, he thought.

So he had no trouble finding his friend and requesting that he sit in on some of their practices. Even if he didn’t watch, Conor had a feeling he would find comfort just knowing that Ned was up there doing his homework or something. He loved rugby, was determined to keep Ned around, and after the final, saw no reason why the two couldn’t come together.

______________________________________________________________________________

Any moment that Ned could find himself away from the hum of other teenage boys was a blessing, and he wasn’t exactly thrilled to have committed to spending even more time around them watching Conor practice. He wasn’t going to even try to pretend that he was remotely interested in watching any of the other players. Luckily, any old practice on any old day didn’t warrant too many visits from other students. Joining Ned on the bleachers were mostly just a few boys who had come to check in on the team or hadn’t had anything better to do. 

However, after the one and only game Ned had ever seen played, he had to admit to himself that he’d been looking forward to watching Conor run around the field on one of the last days of sunshine they had. It gave him something to anticipate during the usual drone of classes.

Speaking of said classes, he had to appreciate Mr Sherry’s determination to control the students in his class, for it was the one place during school hours where he felt he could look up and be aware of his surroundings. Everyone knew Sherry’s rule about unprecedented noises, and nothing had changed. It was this time during the day that he could feel Conor’s presence in public, where no one was looking twice at them, that had become a relief. It’s not that he and Conor were uncomfortable with each other when they were alone, but knowing that Ned was in the presence of his best friend and favorite teacher during the day was like a breath of fresh air.

Ned had become more of an outsider than ever. No matter how cool the school superstar was, it was unshakably not cool to out him during a prep rally. He was getting his fair share of glares and “Eurghh” noises each and every day, but he was grateful that it hadn’t gotten any worse. Yet.

Setting aside the feeling of approaching doom, after classes that day, Ned sat himself down near the top of the bleachers. He’d brought a book about Marxism and some of his homework with him, ready to settle into boredom in the autumn air. He looked up at the sharp blow of the whistle, and watch the players begin running laps around the field. As he watched, he began to let the calm that fresh air always brought him wash over his body. He breathed in deeply through his nose and looked on as Conor and the other boys did press ups and whatever other exercises they apparently didn’t already do enough.

Ned could feel his eyes light up and chest tighten whenever Conor spared a glance to look at him from the ground, occasionally giving him one of his million dollar smiles that he only seemed to wear on the field. He quietly let his heart warm up and absentmindedly wondered if anyone would give a damn if he rolled up a cig all the way up where he was.

Deciding that he probably didn’t want to draw any attention to himself, he instead let himself enjoy seeing Conor in a new way, whatever way it was. He still liked to exercise on their floor, much to Ned’s amusement, but aside from that, he never did see him putting this much energy into something. From his spot on the bleachers, he could see Conor’s hair whipping around his face, and the excitement and concentration with which he looked at his teammates. Ned could see that he was committed to something that he wanted to put his all into. Even though he couldn’t entirely relate to loving a sport so much, the fire in Conor’s eyes was proof enough that this is what he wanted to be doing. What he loved to do. And in Ned’s eyes, that much devotion was beautiful and something to be admired. 

Ned was so caught up in his thoughts that he almost didn’t register whatever it was that Weasel was doing on the field.

______________________________________________________________________________ 

The moment Conor saw Ned in the bleachers looking down as his book, he let himself be overcome with that little joy, even though he already knew he was going to be there. He began practice with the other boys with a new energy, the rest of the long day rolling off of his shoulders. So naturally, he couldn’t stop himself from looking up at the bleachers and admiring the sight Ned’s face, always looking directly back at him every time he chanced a glance. Which he tried to be very careful about timing. In all of his light-heartedness, he let his mind go blank, and lose himself in their drills.

However, he hadn’t noticed that Weasel seemed to be acutely aware of all of Conor’s stolen glances towards the bleachers, and had taken note of each one, until during the first break, when Weasel was suddenly right next to him, talking in a low voice in his ear.

“Why’s your fag here?” 

Conor, suddenly struck by the sudden threat, found it in himself to look directly back at Weasel.  
“Which one?” He said with a smirk.

That certainly took both of them by surprise, as Weasel suddenly was without words for a moment before recovering. “Listen ya’ queer. I don’t care what happened at the final. I’m the one that’s gonna take this team to the championships, cause it definitely ain’t gonna be a fuckin’ fag.”

Conor lowered his eyes as the taller boy leered at him, not wanting to catch the eye of his teammates, and especially the coach.

“Keep your shit outta the field and in the trash. You might have the rest of them for now, but you’re playin’ my game, and sooner or later they’re gonna see what you really are.”

Conor looked up into his eyes, and before he could say anything back, he heard the whistle, and they were off again.

His first thought was that whatever had already happened, he was going to do anything to maintain what he had built with the help of Ned and his friends that had stood behind him. He had to show Weasel that he wasn’t going to let anything slip by him, no matter how small, and he had an idea of how to make his first point. 

They were lined up once more, getting into position to practice their scrimmage, with Weasel directly across from him. At the first breath of the whistle, Conor, with his arms around the other boys, bowed his head and charged forward. He slammed his upper body straight into Weasel’s abdomen, plowing him to the ground, leaving him coughing and gasping for air.

“Oi, sorry mate! Tough sport!” Conor laughed as he walked to rejoin the line.

______________________________________________________________________________

Ned had watched Weasel appear at Conor’s side for the briefest of moments when he looked up from his book while the team had taken a break, and knew that it couldn’t be anything good. When the whistle blew again, Ned hoped that whatever it was had gotten cut off.

He realized he had been dead wrong when he heard Weasel’s heaving just ten seconds later. Ned didn’t have to be down there to know that that was no accident, though he had little pity for Weasel after all, he really just wanted to live a quiet life. He swore he could hear Conor apologizing, and had to suppress his own laughter. 

The next time he and Connor made eye contact, Ned thought could detect the smirk on his face as though he’d been right in front of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's so obvious that I'm an American trying to write Irish dialogue, but let's just roll with it.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Conor gets a visit from a surprising ally, and Ned and Conor have the first of many one on one moments.

After practice had officially ended and the rest of the boys were dismissed to the showers before dinner, Conor couldn’t shake the energy that was still crackling in his bones, wanting to be released until he collapsed. Deciding to let the team go on without him, he ran laps in the dying light. Ned had disappeared from the bleachers shortly before practice ended, and Conor wanted to delay his thought’s return to his mind. He jogged until he had broken out into a run without realizing it, and willed his mind to go blank. He didn’t want to think about Weasel or rugby or Ned, he just wanted to feel his lungs expand until he was too tired to think.

When the sun had set completely and the woods around the field seemed to disappear in the night, he headed toward the locker room, eager to take a long shower on his own. After he’d let the hot water run through his hair and down his back for a few silent minutes, he heard the locker room door open, and a set of footsteps walking in.  
His stomach tied in a knot and he prayed for it to be anyone but Weasel. He’d completely run out of energy for any conversation, much less more conflict. When whoever it was came slowly around the corner, he steadied himself for an encounter. But the head that popped into the open shower wasn’t Weasel’s.

It was Victor’s.

“Figured you’d still be ghosting around here. Practice ended about an hour and a half ago, man.”

Damn, had Conor really been running around for that long? He’d definitely missed dinner, then. When he remained silent, Victor said in a lower voice, “I saw Weasel talking to you earlier. What’d he say?”

Conor couldn’t have guessed why Victor would come visiting now, but maybe he should have known that it would have something to do with his biggest aggressor, besides their coach.

“Nothing new.”

Victor raised an eyebrow, and looked at Conor with knowing eyes as he turned off the shower and stepped out to grab a towel. “Was it about Ned coming to practice?” 

Conor remained silent as he dried off his hair. Victor, apparently determined to pry, sighed and said, “Listen, if anyone else noticed, they didn’t care. Honestly, the only person who seems to give a fuck about you two is Weasel.”

“I invited him to start coming to watch, I don’t care what Weasel says.”

Victor’s eyes widened slightly for a second and he seemed to think carefully about what to say next as he watched Conor get dressed. “So is Ned like...your boyfriend?” He said it as though it was the most normal question to ask a guy, even when his words seemed to echo in the small space and bounce off the tiled room.

Conor felt his chest tighten and his hackles begin to raise. He kept his back to Victor, trying to sense any malice in the other boy’s voice. Was he trying to get Conor to confess something, were any of his other teammates here, waiting to jump out at him or something?

“No.” His said, his heart beginning to speed up.

Victor must have sensed that Conor was tensing up. “Hey, mate, it’s all good. Listen, Weasel’s always been kind of a piece of shit. He’s been trying to get a rise out of Ned and all that for ages. But...I don’t know, after his dad died, he’s been different. It fucked him up pretty bad, and now he’s like a different person. But if this happened before all that, he probably wouldn’t give much of a shit, really.”

Conor turned back to look at Victor and sat on the bench after pulling on his shoes. Everyone knew that Weasel’s dad had died over the summer. Victor leaned against the lockers across from where he sat, his arms crossed over his chest.

“But now, he’s so pissed off all the time, man. He’s always laughing, but every fuckin’ thing sets him off. He’s always a dick to us, but it looks like he’s goin’ after Ned way more, and he keeps talking about him being a queer and all.” He paused for moment. “Look, I don’t need to know everything that’s going on with you, but I think you gotta keep an eye out for your friend; I feel like Weasel could snap at any moment, and things could get a whole lot worse.” Victor didn’t say it like a threat, and Conor knew he was genuinely warning him. Victor had always been someone to pull Weasel back if anything got too intense, and now he was looking at Conor with concern. Conor let out a deep breath.

“Weasel’s fucking crazy. But I’m done goin’ along with what he does. Ned’s not going anywhere. And if you’re cool with all this and you’re really worried, why are you friends with him?”

Victor chuckled softly and shook his head. “I couldn’t tell ya’ if I’m bein’ honest. He’s kinda like a wild puppy, and I feel like I gotta keep him out of trouble.” Conor couldn’t relate, but he didn’t say anything more. Victor sat down next to him and looked him straight in the eye. “I’m gonna be graduating at the end of the year. But until I’m gone, I got your back; I’ll do what I can to keep Weasel in check.”

Conor turned to look at him, pleasantly surprised at the sudden display of support.

Victor must have guessed that Conor was wondering where this had come from, speaking with direct honesty in a school like this, where survival relied on conformity. He lowered his voice almost to a whisper and leaned in slightly. “I’ve got two mums, ya know.” Conor almost gasped, and the shock at these words must have shown on his face, because Victor smiled and looked away. “Yeah, they’ve been together since I was five, and got married when it became legal last year. I’ve never told anyone here.” Conor felt his heart soften, and he understood. He looked at Victor with new eyes. “I’m not ashamed though, don’t get me wrong. I love em’ more than anyone else.” He patted Conor’s should and stood up. “So try not to worry too much, I’m on your side.” With that, he gave Conor a small smile, and left his friend to be alone with his thoughts in the locker room.

______________________________________________________________________________________________________

The next day turned out to be unseasonably warm, and though he felt the usual underlying nervousness swimming with the rest of his thoughts, Ned decided to return to his spot in the bleachers during the afternoon’s rugby practice. Maybe this time he’d take care to look less at Conor on the field and more at the book in his hands. A warm breeze, likely one of the last of the year swept through the stands, and Ned closed his eyes and took a deep breath almost automatically.

From the field Conor could once again see his friend’s small form, and let himself feel comforted, knowing that Ned seemed to be making this regular effort and that he had eyes in the field with him now. Today Conor kept an occasional eye on Weasel, trying to sense if he was going to react to Ned’s distant presence. 

The coach was determined to keep the whole team on their toes, however, and he didn’t have much time to be worried about his surroundings as they went through their rigorous and bruising drills. So by the time practice had ended, they were all out of breath and exhausted, not caring to speak to each other much as they trudged through the grass into the showers. 

Ned, as on edge and observant as he seemed to be all the damned time at that school, noticed that Weasel was very much making time glare at him in between sets. He hadn’t made any moves, but later when Ned was taking his leave to that day’s detention, he felt the familiar sensation of being somewhere he doesn’t belong.

____________________________________________________________________________________________________

One detention and a forgettable dinner later, Ned was sat on his bed attempting to finish his biology homework, steadily losing focus with his attention floating to Conor, turned around at his own desk. He rested his head on the wall behind him and gazed up at his roommate before breaking the silence.

“ So, what happened with Weasel yesterday?”

Without turning around to look back at him, Conor let out an audible sigh and threw his head back. “Nothing.”

Ned narrowed his eyes even though he knew Conor couldn’t see him. “Really?” He said with suspicion. “Cause I happen to know that that ass doesn’t have anything to say that isn’t at least vaguely threatening.”

Conor finally spun around in his chair to look back at him, but he only shrugged. Ned looked back down at his textbook, attempting to look uninterested. “I’ll stop coming to practices.” He said simply.

“Why? Did he say something to you?” Conor said seriously.

“No, but he didn’t have to for me to know that he fuckin’ hates when I’m there. I don’t wanna make anything worse.”

Conor leaned forward in his chair, keeping his eyes only on Ned’s. “You being there only makes it better.”

Ned raised an eyebrow and smirked. “Is that why you just about made him hurl yesterday?” He replied quickly, ignoring the butterflies that had erupted in his stomach.

Conor put a hand on his chest in mock offence. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”  
Ned gave a short laugh and looked back down at his book. “Seriously though,” Conor said. “I want you to keep coming to practices.”

“Why?” Ned rolled his eyes.

“It shows Weasel and Pascal that they gotta deal with some shit that they don’t like.” Conor wanted things to go back to normal, but he also didn’t want anyone to forget that he and Ned were different, but were still going to be treated the same. Having Ned at rugby practice said without words that no one else had a choice on the matter. Besides, it filled him with a quiet joy whenever he saw Ned in the bleachers, but he wasn’t going to tell him that. 

Ned took his back off the wall, put his textbook aside, and leaned forward. He didn’t have to ask what it was in particular that they didn’t like, but he had a question that had been burning in his stomach, aching to be answered. 

“Conor, why don’t you hate me?”

Conor looked shocked, his eyebrows coming together. “What?”

“I told everyone in school that you’re gay, and in a place like this, that’s a death sentence. I know that that’s why you left your last school, and I ruined it for you in no time. I know that if I left this place to start fresh and someone did something like that to me, I’d never forgive them. I still feel horrible about it, but you don’t seem to give a shit! If you hadn’t been a rugby angel apparently sent down by God himself, you’d probably have to leave again. I potentially took away your safety, Conor, and put a target on both of our backs. For some reason, I’ve never had a choice because it must be written all over my face or something, but you could have chosen when to come out, if at all. How could you forgive me so quickly?”

Conor looked at him, evidently taken aback by the sudden confession. He looked away for a few seconds before getting off of his chair and lowering himself on the floor against his bed. He was now looking up at Ned, and said with softness in his words, “Ned, what you did was really fucking wild.” An odd way to start, sure, but there was no doubt about it. When Ned had swiped the megaphone from the head cheerleader’s hands and sauntered up on stage only to out his best friend with the biggest grin on his face, Conor felt like he’d turned to into stone. His heart must’ve stopped and the room started to spin. He was speechless, and for a moment he wasn’t sure it had actually happened. This was true, but so was everything that happened in the twenty-four hours afterwards, even though it all felt like a dream. 

“And yeah, most people look at me differently now, but I’m glad for that. I’m glad that I don’t have to hide anymore. I can wake up in the morning and not worry if anyone’s gonna find out, because everyone already knows, and nothing especially terrible has happened yet. It fucking sucked at the time, but now there’s nowhere to hide, and I don’t have to try to prove that I’m something else. I still play rugby, better than ever actually, and I feel like I’m showing people that the world isn’t gonna stop spinning just because I happen to be gay. I used to think that I’d have to fight anyone who found out, and had to choose to be one thing or the other, but I was really just scared to be myself. You took away my choice, Ned, but it’s a good thing. Like I said, there are some things that people don’t like or don’t like to talk about, but they’re not going anywhere. I’m not going anywhere.”

Ned couldn’t remember hearing Conor say so much at once since they met. He leaned on his hands behind him, wanting to hear him say more.

Conor sighed. “Yeah, so I was really pissed for a while and ran away. But if you hadn’t come back for me, I wouldn’t have seen that I wasn’t running away from anyone but me. I left all of my friends behind when my last school found out, but maybe I didn't need to. Maybe I left behind some people who would’ve been cool with me either way. You really shook me up, but I think I needed it. Maybe I would have never been brave enough to tell the truth if you hadn’t done it for me. Besides, people really show their true colors once they learn something like that.” He thought about his conversation with Victor. 

For once, Ned was rendered speechless. He still wasn’t sure if Conor had completely forgiven him, though.

Conor thought about what to say next and spoke from his spot on the floor once again. “What would you do if you could always be yourself?”

This took Ned by surprise. During the day in an attempt to escape what could be a crushing reality, he thought about this often. “Well, I guess the first thing I’d do is take off this uniform and burn it.” He said with a smirk, but he knew Conor was being earnest when their eyes met again. “But I guess...I already try to be myself as much as I can. But if I was somewhere without these oppressive regulations, I’d say everything that was on my mind, all the time. I’d never shut up. Maybe I wouldn’t be afraid to punch somebody in the face; I’m so fuckin’ tired of putting my head down all the time, ya know? God, I’d dye my hair teal and get my tongue pierced. I’d meet people with some actual brains and read Nietzsche and write poetry all day. I’d write ‘fuck fascists’ on every wall and honestly, be as gay as I possibly can, just to show any idiot that I can live however the fuck I want. Conor, when I get out of here, you won’t catch me giving a single shit about what anyone says about me.” Ned couldn’t stop himself going on and on about the dreams of freedom he had. Saying all this out loud to someone who’d asked was, well, liberating.

Conor was listening closely, his eyes growing fonder with every word. Finally, here was the Ned that he knew was lying underneath the surface, behind all that hidden anxiety.

Ned seemed to break off from his train of thought and added in a lower voice, “Somehow, since forever, everyone I’ve ever met has looked at me differently. It’s like some higher power is pointing at me all the time and saying ‘Yeah everybody, that’s the guy.’ I never made many friends ‘cause of that, and I used to think there was something wrong with me. And then…” He took a deep breath, steadying himself to reveal this information. “My mum died, and I just said fuck it. If I’m a freak then so be it, ‘cause trying to pretend I’m anything other than myself is just a waste of time. I stopped trying to look ‘normal,’ and play my part as the outsider. Not that there was anyone who cared either way…” He cut himself off before he let anything else slip out.

The room was slowly getting darker, and neither of them noticed the fading light around them. Conor didn’t say anything; he was drinking in all the information that Ned trusted him with. He completely understood his desire to live honestly. Sometimes he let himself get so angry with the rest of the world that all he could do was run it off before he, too, revealed too much. 

The night of the fire, when Ned looked into Conor’s eyes and begged to him to tell everyone the truth was one of Conor’s most difficult nights, filled with self restraint. He’d fought to keep his eyes stone cold and heartbeat steady, careful to not let any truth slip past his lips. Of course he’d wanted to tell them, he’d wanted to tell everyone in the whole world everything he was feeling. He’d wanted to scream into the night about who he wanted to be and what he wanted to world to be like. He had wanted to shout from the rooftops about how he simple it all was until he went hoarse, making it loud and clear that he just wanted to be himself without the earth coming to a halt and the sky falling on his life. He’d never even fallen in love before, and yet everyone seemed to give so much of a fuck about what he felt, when it was no one’s business but his own. 

But he’d lacked the courage and the words.

He’d seen a whole new world of possibility and life in the depths of Ned’s blue eyes that night, and with all of the internal strength he could muster, he’d pushed Ned to the ground, wanting to tell only him the truth. He knew not a single soul could see it, but he pushed his friend away as if to tell him to leave this bullshit behind, get away from this person everyone was telling him to be, where he might find himself changed, too. 

In this moment, now, Conor had never felt so lucky. He was teaching himself to relax more each day, but it was only in Ned’s presence when they were alone and honest like this, where he felt the most comfortable. However, no matter the outcome of Ned’s actions on himself personally, he knew that Ned was now in more danger than ever, too.

He gave Ned another smile, coming back up from his thoughts. He hoped that Ned could see how grateful he was for telling him all this. “I know things are rocky right now, and they might even get worse. But I talked to Victor today, and he’s cool, he said that he’s got our backs and he’ll try to keep guys like Weasel in check. And Ned,” He moved himself closer to the other boy’s spot on his bed. “I got your back. I’m not gonna let anyone fuck with you, and one day we’ll both get to show the world exactly who we are.” 

Ned must’ve had stars in his eyes, because Conor was looking at him like there really was nothing to worry about. “I suppose you’re not as much of a stupid jock as I thought.” His heart, betraying his words, suddenly felt a hundred pounds lighter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's a bit longer, and I loved writing it. I've started writing outlines for where I want the story to go, and I promise, things are gonna start picking up! Leave a comment if you want, I love feeling like I'm not the only person in the world who's seen this movie and loves it enough to spend hours writing about it :)
> 
>  
> 
> Also sorry if I accidentally write Connor instead of Conor, I don't know why they spelled it like that in the movie.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a whole chapter of Conor and Ned hanging out and...feeling things???

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This whole thing is just dialogue and small moments and learning about the boys, and it's a good time! Leave a comment if you're enjoying this as much as I am!

Ned just really, really loved to be outside, okay? For obvious reasons, like trying to get as much Vitamin D as possible before the autumn and winter mire rolled over the land, sure, but also because being in that cramped building with two hundred other boys was just  _ stifling _ . Their obnoxious behavior aside, Ned rarely ever found himself alone; the school was literally crawling with pubescent boys, basically vibrating all at times. God, they moved so much and they were all so  _ loud _ , he never got a quiet moment to just think, or even let his mind wander without interruption.

 

So every day, if the weather was even slightly okay, Ned ate his lunch outside. Every few days or so he switched up his lunch (hiding) spot, and appreciated forty-five peaceful minutes on his own. Today, he decided that he liked his spot in the open bleachers next to the rugby field, sitting in the space between the benches. Times like these, when Ned could be all alone, looking out into the country that he hadn’t been able to bring himself hate just yet, made him feel so grateful that they weren’t required to be caged in during non-school hours.

 

He was just rummaging around his backpack for the book he was working on when the silence with broken with a sudden, but pleasantly surprised, “Ah.” 

 

Ned looked up from his hands to see the only person who had even been pleased with his presence walking up the steps, Conor.

 

“Gotcha.” He climbed over the bench to where Ned was seated.

 

“Caught me hiding, are you surprised?”

 

Conor sat down across from him holding onto a bag of crisps and a water bottle that Ned thought was just...too big. Conor’s hands hardly looked big enough to hold it. “If that’s full of Vodka or something, I’ll be  _ really _ impressed.” He said, nodding to it.

 

Conor chuckled. “Nah, but that’d get me through the rest of today. Pascal started making us drink at least three of these a day, says it keeps our blood moving or something.”

 

Ned made a face. “Sounds like a way to make sure you’re all peeing like racehorses all day, but far be it from me to argue with your drill sergeant. Anyway, how’d you find me?” Conor didn’t look like he was there to practice his kicks or anything. 

 

“I’ve been spending a bit during lunch these days looking for you. I knew I’d find you hiding in a corner at some point.” 

 

“Well, you’ve interrupted my daytime meditative disassociation, but I’m not complaining.” He put his books away and put his arm over the bench behind him. “I guess I’ll have to find a better spot now that I’ve been found out.”

 

Conor looked down at him. “And make me keep spending my precious minutes looking for you? How rude. You could eat lunch with me at school, you know.”

 

“Conor, every second away from that building is my god-given right. Otherwise I’d be homicidal, and it wouldn’t even be my fault.”

 

“Hmm, I think Walter might have something to say about it if you end up murdering one of his players during the winter.” Conor was smirking at him. 

 

“Ugh, don’t even talk to me about winter, please. They’ll just have to understand that Northern Ireland isn’t for me. And anyway, I’m in support of calling figures of authority by their first name, but ‘Pascal?’ It just doesn’t feel right. He’s too aggressive and burly for such a classy name.” He leaned forward and took a crisp when Conor offered him.

 

“He’s more of a...Gerard.”

 

Conor snorted. “Or a Barnard.” 

 

“No, Bernie’s too good for him. He’s definitely a Gerry. With a G.” Conor hummed in amusement as he took another swig of water.

 

“Also, ‘Conor?’ With just one ‘N?’ What’s with that?”

 

He shrugged. “I guess my parents knew that I’d be a simple guy who only needed one; two is just too dramatic. And if you wanna start talkin’ names, what’s Ned even short for? There’s too many names that could it could be, which one are you?” He leaned down, inching his face closer to Ned’s, “Who even are you, Ned Roche?”

 

Ned didn’t usually, or really at all, reveal his full name, but decided this would be his moment of truth. “Edwin.” He said, narrowing his eyes and lowering his voice, as if this had been one of his biggest secrets. But he couldn’t help the corners of his mouth twitching upwards as he said it.

 

“Ooh, Edwin Roche. I like that. It sounds like a famous writer.” Conor praised, sitting back up and dumping the rest of the crisps into his mouth. 

 

Ned scoffed. “Yeah right.” 

 

Conor simply gave another of his infamous shrugs. Then he looked at Ned with a distinct glimmer in his eyes. “Can I start calling you Eddie?”

 

Ned feigned disgust and said loudly, “Not a chance! Eddie sounds like a twat with a trust fund who smokes too much weed.” He said while, ironically enough, rolling up a cigarette from the pouch in his pocket.

 

“Perfect for you, then!” Conor exclaimed as though he’d just proven a point. Then, eyeing the papers in Ned’s hands, gripped his chest with his own and said, “Edwin Roche!  _ Smoking?  _ At  _ school? _ Unbelievable! I’ll be writing home about this, you know.”

 

Ned rolled his eyes and waved him off. “Shut up. I’m allowed my simple pleasures.” They quipped back and forth until they heard the bell ring in the distance before walking back to school. When they parted for their classes, Ned made a note in his mind to begin telling Conor where he’d be during lunch. 

 

  ______________________________________________________________________________

  
  


Conor must have been developing a knack for sniffing out Ned that day, because after practice, detention (of which Ned’s disdain for was growing,) and dinner, he was once again walking in on him in his music spot down the stairs in the auditorium.

 

Ned, guitar in arms, looked over his shoulder and didn’t even bother to say hello to his visitor, choosing to just roll his eyes instead. 

 

“You follow me around much more, and I’ll start to get worried.”

 

Conor didn’t seem bothered. “You weren’t at practice today, or else you might have been able to escape me.”

 

“Yeah, I decided to get some hard earned rest.”

 

Conor let out a noise of disbelief, coming over to lean against the desk. “Hard earned? What do you even do all day, besides reading the Communist Manifesto?”

 

Ned lightly strummed the few chords he knew absentmindedly. “Ooh, those are some big words, Conor, don’t strain yourself. And after sitting in detention and letting my brain rot every day for two straight weeks, I need all the recovery I can get. It’s criminal, how long I have to sit in there, wasting away!”

 

Conor, completely undeterred, shook his head and said, “Oh, Eddie, your words hurt.” 

 

Ned’s eyes flared up and he opened his mouth instantly. “I’m not afraid to punch a jock, you ass!”

 

This got a real laugh out of the other boy. “I’d give just about anything to see that.”

 

Ned mumbled something under his breath about “Right fit dumbasses…” And went back to strumming. “You fucked up my rhythm, too.”

 

Conor’s face broke out into a wicked grin, not being able to contain his joy at poking fun at his friend anymore. “Ha! Rhythm? If I’ve heard anything, you didn’t have much to begin with.”

 

Ned slowly raised his head to look at his friend, mouth wide open. “I’ve just about had it with you, today! Christ!” His voice betrayed him however; it was obvious that he found this new, cheeky, Conor to be absolutely delightful.

 

Conor was catching on. “As if.” He said simply, grabbing a chair from the corner and swinging it around in front of himself to sit down, resting his arms over it. “Gerard, as we now know him, scheduled a practice match against a school in Derry this weekend. You coming?”

 

“You really expect me to come to any of your matches after disrespecting me like that? Inconceivable.”

 

Conor grinned right back at him. “No doubt about it. And who knows, if I swing every penalty kick, you might even get to see Coach tear up again. I’ve been practicing.” 

 

“Hmm...it would be a tragedy to miss the pride everyone feels for you. Not much to do in Derry, though, is there?”

 

Conor shrugged. “Not much, except to watch me.” Ned’s heart did a small flip in his chest. “But honestly, it’s just a practice match, so we’ll probably leave straight after anyway.” Ned’s disinterest must have showed on his face. “But still, I want you to be there.”

 

He didn’t have to explain why after they talked about it last night, but Ned felt his heart soften and all sarcasm dissipated. 

 

“Wouldn’t miss it. As long as no one else on this  _ earth _ calls me Eddie.” Well, most of it. 

 

  _____________________________________________________________________________

  
  


Ned was so relieved to have discovered this new, snarky, undeterred Conor. After their time spent together in the past few days, he was feeling less like he had to watch his attitude, and more like he could say what was on his mind. Ned thought of plenty of comebacks throughout his day from distant conversations, but he’d never had anyone to say them to before. So, when Conor laid down on his bed and threw his arm over his eyes at promptly nine pm that night, Ned didn’t hesitate to remove his focus from his homework and say,

 

“Conor, you’re like an old man. How can you be going to bed this early every day?”

 

Conor lifted his arm from his eyes slightly and glared at him. “You might never understand this, but we train twice a fucking day, starting at six in the morning, and you’ve seen what that looks like. I must burn like, fifteen thousand calories a day. Besides, I gotta deal with your sass, so that’s probably an extra couple hundred.”

 

Ned couldn’t think of a much worse way to live. “Fair enough.” He said. He waited a few more moments before asking, “So where’d all this cheekiness come from anyway?” 

 

“My sister, probably. We used to bicker all the time.”

 

Ned was taken aback by this sudden information. “You have a sister? Since when?”

 

Conor put his hands behind his head and laughed, “Er, for a while now. Her name’s Janey.”

 

“How come you’ve never mentioned her?”

 

Conor managed a shrug. “I dunno, I guess it hasn’t come up. She’s a few years older than me.”

 

Ned found himself incredibly intrigued. “Where is she? She wasn’t at any of your games, was she?” 

 

He sat up and leaned against the wall.  “No, she’s going to school in America.” 

 

“That sounds amazing.” Ned said honestly. He could only imagine what it would be like to live in a country that’s not your own. His parents would know. “Well, if she taught you to be such a impertinent bastard, she must be cool.”

 

Conor smiled. “Yeah, she’s really cool. Nothing like our parents; she moved to California to study film even when they didn’t want her to. She shaved her head when I was like, ten, and my mum just about had a stroke.”

Ned was thoroughly impressed. “Wow, can I switch you out for her? She sounds much more exciting.”

 

“Good one, but she’s way too cool for you.” 

 

Ned gasped. “Ouch, Masters, that one hurt.” Ned didn’t want to change the mood too much, but he just had to know. “Does she know?”

 

“Know what?” 

 

“That you’re gay.”

 

Conor nodded and gave a grateful smile. “Yeah, she’s the only living soul in my family that knows. When she visited over the summer, she told me about how many queer friends she’s made in the states, and that she wants to bring me over sometime.”

 

Ned’s mouth fell open and he gaped at Conor. “That’s fuckin’ fantastic! I gotta meet her.”

 

“She’d like you.” Conor said with warmth in his eyes.

 

Ned felt his stomach tighten again, and wondered if he’d just have to get used to that feeling whenever Conor looked at him like that. “Did I ever tell you that I met Mr Sherry’s boyfriend after the final?”

 

The other boy’s eyes widened. “No, but I saw them together when I went to that bar after the quarter final.” He immediately wondered if he should’ve kept that to himself, but assured himself quickly that if he could tell anyone, it would be Ned. “I guess that means he came out, too.”

 

They swapped stories about their particular sightings of their English teacher for a while before silence fell in the room again, and Ned came down from his perch on the bed to the floor in front of Conor. He moved closer into the light and crossed his legs, looking at Conor like he was getting ready for a story.

 

“So, when did you figure it out? About yourself, I mean.” 

 

Conor rolled his eyes as if he knew this question would come eventually. He sighed, running a hand through his hair and moved forward on the bed, careful not to say anything too loudly next to the wall should anyone be listening. Then he answered, “I’d been denying it for so long, that I don’t remember if there was an exact moment. But I remember when I was probably about thirteen, and Janey brought a boyfriend home without telling our parents.” For the first time, Ned saw Conor blush deeply. “I er...caught them kissing in the hallway. I only saw him though, and I guess I just thought, ‘I want that.’ And then my dad came home and threw him out the back door, screamin’ his head off.” 

 

“How dramatic.” Ned surmised. He thought he was gonna have to convince Conor to tell him, and was glad to be offered this information so willingly.

 

“Yeah, I guess so. What about you?” He looked up from where he had been looking at his hands while he’d spoken, and dared Ned to tell him his own story. “Did you always know?”

 

Ned, growing increasingly smug said, “You askin’ if I came out the womb just knowing that I’d love cock?” 

 

Conor was without a doubt taken aback. This statement was suddenly full of implication, and he was lost for words, simply staring at him.

 

Ned just laughed and shrugged. “Relax, you prude. Being an outsider, I guess it was predestined. At some point in my childhood it must have hit me when I realized that I’ve never liked a girl. Funny, how the blokes around here care so much about being straight when most of them probably haven’t been within fifty yards of a girl in their lives.”

 

Conor gave in and heaved a great big sigh, laying back down. “You got that right. You can’t imagine how many things I’ve heard about everyone’s dicks in the locker room, it definitely qualifies as a fixation.”

 

Ned practically howled. “Exactly! They probably care more about seeing each other naked than I ever have, and yet,  _ I’m _ the one who’s queer.”

 

Conor rolled over on his side to face him, raising an eyebrow in exasperation. “You have no idea. I wonder how many of them will turn out to be gay, too.”

 

Ned, as it turned out, had his suspicions. A whole list of them, actually, and wasted no time in telling Conor about his theories for each and every one of them as the night began to pass them by in a whirl wind of roasting athletes and quiet giggles. Before they knew it, Conor was turning off the lamp beside his bed, insisting that he had to go to bed before running the risk of getting grilled by Pascal (“I’m only calling him Gerard from now on.” Ned had added,) for not being on top of his game the next day.

 

It took Ned much longer to fall asleep than usual though; his mind was still spinning with the enjoyment of talking to another person. He’d had no idea that talking to someone who cared about what he thought could be so much fun and invigorating. He could feel his mind continuing to turn over on itself, but eventually willed his eyes to close and heart rate slow in the darkness of their bedroom.

 

  _____________________________________________________________________________

  
  


The following day as Ned sat through, well, more like fidgeted through, his detention, he felt like his brain was flying at a thousand kilometers per minute. He’d had such a difficult time quieting his thoughts the previous night, and they had picked up their previous momentum as soon as he’d woken up for the day. 

 

That morning, still feeling the low warmth in his center from grilling his roommate, he’d seen soft daylight behind his eyelids and knew immediately that it was too early. It was too early to open his eyes, much less even consider being a person for the day. He tried to retreat his consciousness back into his warm bed, rubbing his face in the pillow in an attempt to escape from the light. After a moment, as he was running out of air, he faced the brightness and considered giving in. He wondered what force had willed him out of sleep at what was likely such an ungodly hour. It just wasn’t fair. 

 

He slowly opened his eyes to find Conor with his comforter up to his mouth, gazing softly at him. 

 

Before Ned could really think about anything at all, his brain took note of how gentle his eyes looked, like he was staring out a window, smiling slightly at the sun. But it was just too early. 

 

“It’s too early.” Ned mumbled into the silence. 

 

Conor’s grin grew wider, and he sat up wordlessly and stretched. Then he slowly stood and said in a sleep-ridden voice, “Yeah, it is. And you kept me up.” And simply padded out of the room on bare feet.

 

Ned had closed his eyes and buried his head under the covers, shielding himself from the world.

 

_ Nope _ . He’d fallen asleep once more.

 

Now, however,  _ now _ was a different story. He hadn’t been able to get Conor’s eyes out of his mind, no matter how much will he had. He’d gone to rugby practice before detention to give himself something else to focus on, only to find out that that was the dumbest thing he could have done. Not only because all sports, and therefore rugby, were as dull as a cloudy day and perfect for spacing out, but because Conor had suddenly become so much more noticable. Ned hadn’t been able to take his eyes off of him for more than a minute or so, and he really hoped the team had been too busy to notice. 

 

It hadn’t just been that morning, but the hours spent with his best friend were leading up to these feelings making themselves known, opening his mind to a whole flood of nonsense. 

 

Despite the connection he undeniably felt for Conor, Ned was having such a hard time deciding which of his feelings he should trust. He wasn’t going to lie to himself anymore, and despite his best intentions, this new person in his life had opened him up, and he didn’t even want to try to forget any of it. Sometimes, in the right moment and in the right way, his heart felt like it was filling to burst when Conor looked at him. Even though he was trying hard to live each day as perfectly normal as possible, after the time he and Conor had spent with each other, he knew that he had become lighter, and had been feeling like he was floating an inch off the ground. His days were becoming less of one train wreck after another, and more like...how a normal person probably feels in their day to day life.

 

For the first time since he could ever remember, he was letting himself get to know someone else. His small world had taught him up to this moment that there was never anyone to pay attention to, as no one wanted to pay any kind of positive attention to him. He hadn’t realized that he’d been so caught up in self-preservation that he never spared a thought to the idea of letting anyone in. That is, until the boy he’d found on the floor of his bedroom was looking over his makeshift wall, trying to scratch his way into Ned’s line of sight. 

 

But did he really want to trust anyone other than himself, after all this time? He wanted so badly to live a kind of life where he could explore and take risks, but in this place, he felt like he took a risk whenever he walked out of his room. He just couldn’t afford to risk the sanctuary that he had built his mind up to be, by showing someone else who he really was. He didn’t dare. He couldn’t stop himself from imagining all the ways it could go wrong, and he didn’t even know what ‘it’ was. What was he looking forward to?

 

Somewhere along the rails of his train of thought, something inside of him reminded him of the euphoria Conor had so frequently given him since they met. He’d come back not only to escape the passive aggressive wrath of his father, but he was chasing down that feeling of running after Conor, pushing him forward towards his dreams. He came back for Conor. If not that, he had really found himself a victim of a moment of passion, and was pressed down by an entity he so wanted to run away from. 

 

What did he even want from Conor? Really wanted, aside from spending quiet moments together and watching him on the field. He wanted someone to see him completely for who he is yes, but after that? After showing all of the anger, fight, and regrets that made him the person he was, what did he want in return? The same display of vulnerability? For someone to tell him that he really was moving in the right direction? He’d meant it when he said that he had no skills and was unemployable, and really felt that fear. But Conor had reminded him that there were more emotions to be had, and that hope could be found in the smallest of places.

 

Hope. It was that exhilarating feeling that brought them together. Conor’s hope to start fresh (that Ned still felt guilty about taking away,) Ned’s own hope that maybe he’d found his first friend, and it was blind faith that pushed him out of that car and bolting alongside traffic, taking him to Conor to pass it on. Whenever he thought about that day of utter chaos, when he felt true, heart racing excitement, he still felt so sure that it was the right thing to do. 

 

Conor was the only person who had made him act upon the wild things his heart desired, and though he regretted some of it, he wouldn’t change it if he had the chance. Maybe those feelings are the ones that mattered now. Conor took a risk by being honest with his teammates, and publicly bringing Ned into his life, letting it be known that whatever they had was not to be touched. He was so brave, and Ned doubted he knew that himself. They both got lost in their own heads too much, that was obvious. 

 

Ned couldn’t handle any of these thoughts racing in circles around each other in his head any longer, and decided to sacrifice a notebook he’d been intending to use for algebra, and let his hand do the thinking for him, and finally drain all of his thoughts onto the blank pages.

 

  _____________________________________________________________________________

  
  


Conor had woken up that morning wanting to curse Ned for keeping him up so much later than he wanted, but after a minute or two with his eyes closed, couldn’t really bring himself to regret it. He blearily looked at the clock and saw that his alarm was going to go off in about five minutes. Somehow he always woke up just before he needed to. Deciding to remain in the heat of his blankets for just a while longer, he looked at Ned’s sleeping form and disabled the alarm, thinking ahead to spare the both of them. Ned usually slept on his right side, Conor had noticed, but that morning they were facing each other, his roommate evidently in the deepest of sleeps. Ned thought that Conor didn’t appreciate silence as much as he did, but he was wrong. Conor savored the earliest moments of the morning, when the whole world remained still and silent. He couldn’t hear anyone moving around outside their room yet, and Conor took this blessed time to appreciate the look of complete peace on Ned’s face without feeling too bad about it. He was laying on his stomach with his mouth slightly open, and everything about him lacked all the tension and false aloofness that he usually carried with him. No matter how much he always tried to look like nothing bothered him, Ned was so expressive; his face gave away everything he was feeling. Conor liked that, he never had to guess what mood his friend was in.

 

After everything they had talked about recently, and since they met, in fact, Conor frequently found himself wondering why Ned never had any friends. He was always so honest and said whatever was on his mind without restraint. Even around their classmates, he wasn’t afraid to make his distaste evident, even if they didn’t realize it. Maybe it was that no one had ever thought to pay attention to the little things that Ned does that made him so...likeable. He was so determined to be different, making himself obvious with his bright ginger hair, and yet the crowd around him seemed to ignore him that much more. 

 

They both may have been as different as night and day at times, but they wanted the same thing. To be free to explore whoever it was that they were. But how could people choose to ignore how intelligent, or observant, or fucking hilarious he was? Ned was by far the most interesting person at their school, and just kept finding ways to surprise Conor. With every detail he was learning about this kid, he became ever more eager to keep learning. While he was at it, though they were both so introverted, Conor never grew tired of Ned’s company. He loved how much they both appreciated hours where they could just shut the fuck up and exist in the same space. It felt like no one he interacted with knew how to do that; there was always so much noise in between classes.

 

The minutes he had left to stay in bed were whittling away, but Conor wasn’t ready to start his day. It also just wasn’t fair, even though he definitely didn’t dislike it, how much of a pretty boy Ned was. He wasn’t unmasculine, but the way he looked in these precious mornings before waking, he looked so...soft. Conor was embarrassed with himself for even thinking that, but in his sleep riddled mind, he didn’t yet have the strength to will these thoughts away. The way the light was touching his face was mesmerizing. And then Ned, indeliberately making the situation so much worse, scrunched up his eyebrows in his sleep and nuzzled the pillow, making his hair light up in the sunlight. That was that, then. He felt his heart swell up, and when Ned faced him and opened his eyes, the light and the day immediately swimming in his bright blue depths, Conor couldn’t do a thing about it. He just couldn’t bring himself to look away, and suddenly never wanted to. He was in way too deep with everything bursting in his chest, that he didn’t have the space to feel anything but unfiltered admiration.

 

“It’s too early.”

 

Conor didn’t stand a chance.

  
  
  
  
  
  



	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ned begins writing in his journal, they both have A LOT of internal dialogue, and they play a match at another school, where things get intense.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I watched an 11 minute Youtube video about the rules of rugby for this chapter, and I don't remember ANY of it. It's hilarious trying to write about rugby, boarding school, and Irish lingo without knowing anything about those things! I just want teen romance. 
> 
> I've also decided that Weasel's real name is Wesley.
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> (P.S you can say hi to me on tumblr @blapblapsss if you want)

_ I don’t want to say it, not since I lost her. The only other person in the world who looked at me like that. Don’t make me think about you like this. All I’ve ever been told is that I’m on my own and not worth seeing. I don’t want to notice you any more than I have to, so stop being so damn bright. Don’t look at me like I’m anything special, because I can’t start wanting that. Just go off and light up the world instead, I’m not ready to see that clearly. _

 

_ I don’t know when the rest of the world decided that I’m not worth shit, but what’s more confusing is how you seem to disagree. I don’t want to get used to being the center of attention, so I’ll do my best not to love it. Keep me at a distance, cause what if I go too far? What if I give in, dive in, and make another mistake? Ruin things for you even more, I still can’t believe you don’t hate me. _

 

  _____________________________________________________________________________

  
  


Ned didn’t hate himself; he got over that when he realized that he couldn’t change. He couldn’t change the things about himself that no one else understood, but he’d never really been encouraged for the things he liked. His mother had been the most caring and supportive person in his life, who always told him that he was perfect the way he was. Then she died, and he decided to keep believing her. To him, the rest of the world lacked sympathy. It lacked the heart that she had. And when Conor looked at him with such kindness and acceptance, it reminded him of her. The way Conor told him that he was wanted so shamelessly, it was almost a perfect reflection of how she used to tell him that he was so special, and he one day do everything. Ned wanted to live his life and accept himself for her after she was lost, and he hadn’t tried to fit in since. 

 

If he was so confident that he wanted to love as fearlessly as she did, why couldn’t he even stomach the thought of feeling something stronger than friendship for Conor? The thought of letting himself feel more than what was on the surface terrified him and made his heart ache. He’d gone so long successfully pushing everyone away in his attempt to stand out, that he didn’t want to lose anything more by risking what they already had.

 

But at the same time, it was impulse that had pushed him ahead in his life and felt so natural. The thoughts that he tried to press out of his mind scared him, but they also made him feel like he could take flight at any moment. Like when he thought about how much more magnetic Conor was becoming by the day. Ned found himself wanting to inch closer to him almost all the time now, especially when he’d caught his friend looking so serenely at him in the morning light. 

 

What did that even mean? Was Conor just staring out into space, trying to stay awake in the early hours? Or was he feeling something similar to what Ned was in that moment? They were both gay, sure, but Ned frequently reminded himself that it didn’t necessarily mean they had to be attracted to each other. He’d never met anyone else that he knew for a fact was gay, and had no idea how that changed their friendship. Did Conor originally befriend him because Ned hadn’t denied it when asked, and knew that they already had that in common? He didn’t really care much either way; he’d feel more comfortable around someone who was basically out already, too. 

 

Conor hadn’t said anything about that morning two days ago since it happened; maybe he didn’t even remember it. They had carried on as usual, albeit Ned had been a little more than wrapped up in his thoughts. As nervous as he was about what these sensations meant, he couldn’t bring himself to be even slightly uncomfortable around him. Having Conor in his life had immediately felt so organic, and Ned knew there was nothing to be afraid of. He’d admit that they really were best friends. But could he ever bring himself to even consider the possibility of wanting more? Those kinds of feelings brought so many expectations with them. He didn’t necessarily want Conor to be more than a friend, he just wanted to be...closer. Whatever that looked like. He was beginning to get excited for the next time they were together, even though they were fucking  _ roommates. _

 

Conor was also the only person who had ever wanted to know more about him! That was magical on its own. He really,  _ really _ didn’t want to admit this, but he was loving the attention. He had so much to say, so much growing inside him all the time, that he just wanted to let it spill out of him in waves, and Conor was willing to listen. People used to say Ned talked too much, especially when he was little, but Conor hadn’t complained once, perfectly happy to sit back and let Ned speak. He knew that if Conor had something to say, he’d say it.

Ned was so jittery inside and out as he was sitting through yet another detention, and he wanted to be mad at his roommate for running through his mind so much. Though, it was more fun than thinking about how he where he would eat dinner that evening.

 

About forty-five minutes later, Ned was swinging his bag over his shoulder and making his way out the door, when a voice called out behind him halfway down the hall. He turned to see Mr Sherry walking his way. “Come and have a word with me, will you?”

 

Though Ned was eager to eat something before returning to the dorm for the night, he followed Sherry down the hall to his classroom, letting the door close behind him.

 

Sherry sat down behind his desk and motioned Ned towards the other side. “Have a seat.”

 

Ned did so, putting down his bag next to the chair. He was already on edge, and wasn’t exactly in the mood to talk one on one with his English teacher for the first time since he’d met his partner. 

 

“Did you want to talk about my last essay?”

 

Sherry had an excellent way of looking casual, and Ned thought it was refreshing after spending the day with old men who’d never considered bringing humor into their lives before. “Partly, yes. It was good, you’re getting better at putting your thoughts onto paper since you started using your own ideas.” He said, a glimmer in his eyes. Ned gave a small nod, not really sure what to say.

 

“How’s life been treating you, since all the ‘drama?’” He asked, laying his arms over the desk and looking directly at his student. 

 

Drama it was, definitely. “Surprisingly normal. I haven’t been crucified by the rugby team yet, so that’s a plus. And Conor actually seems to be doing better than ever.”

 

Sherry smiled. “Glad to hear it.”

 

Ned thought he’d ask what he’d been curious about since he got back from his suspension. “Sir, you didn’t happen to pull any strings to get me back to school, did you?”

 

Sherry waited a moment before answering. “I might have put in a good word for you.”

 

“Thanks, although I’m still beginning to think I would have been better off playing guitar in train stations or something.” Ned shrugged.

 

Dan chuckled, “That’s a pretty low bar there, my friend. As a thanks, maybe you could humor me by entering in the essay competition. Mr White tells me that you’ve started writing during detentions.”

 

“Yeah, I suppose it helps me process.”

 

“It makes me think that you might actually be enjoying it. Your writing really is improving, and you’ve always been quite witty. Why not give it a go?”

 

Ned smirked, and didn’t hesitate before saying, “What, and let all that money go the school?”

 

Sherry smiled as though he’d proven a point. “Yes, but it could also put you on the radar of schools that give out scholarships for that sort of thing, if you’re interested. It could be good to have another project to focus on.”

 

Ned thought about these words. Had Mr Sherry sensed that Ned had been teeming with nervous energy lately? Writing down his scattered thoughts had done well to assuage his worries, but he didn’t know if he expected anything to come of it. “I guess I’ve never given it much thought.”

 

Sherry leaned back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other. “Well, give it some thought. The competition’s next thursday. Besides, if you win, I’d take a guess that Walter might lift your detention sentence.” Ned raised his eyebrows. That sounded like a fair price to pay for his daily freedom.

 

When Sherry led him out the door a few minutes later, he began to make his way down the stairs, thinking he knew exactly what he’d write about. 

 

  _____________________________________________________________________________

  
  


_ Each day, I become more convinced that the older, wealthier government is deliberately trying to staunch the youth’s free flowing minds, to make sure that we remain oppressed and vulnerable for the rest of our lives. Why else would they continue to put us in situations of extreme stress and pressure for eight hours a day, five days a week, cramming our heads with monotonous nonsense, unless it was to slowly break us? I’m certain that we’d all be more worldly and intelligent if we eliminated this weaponized ‘education system.’  _

 

  _____________________________________________________________________________

  
  


Aside from refusing to acknowledge that yes, he really was attracted to men and only men until very recently, Conor had always been innately honest with himself. He could recognize when he was angry, even though he wasn’t always good at controlling it. He could admit when he was scared and uncertain, like when he’d gone to Walter after learning that he had a gay roommate, and he knew when he was grieving, as he did when he saw the way his father had reacted when he heard of the rumors floating around the school his son went to. He shouldn’t have expected that now would be any different. He’d never had real feelings for anyone despite fleeting attraction brought on by his hormones, but he knew that he felt something deeper for Ned. Once that thought had made its presence known in his mind, he knew he was stuck with it and had to accept it. He had affection for his best friend.

 

All his life, he’d secretly waited for the day that these kinds of emotions would appear in his heart; he wanted to know what other people were talking about when they liked someone. Since Ned’s eyes stared back into his the other day, he’d felt just as confident around him as ever. To his own surprise, during practice that very same morning, he was still able to maintain focus. Or maybe he was just sleep-deprived. Nonetheless, he felt like his mind had quieted, no longer feeling any confusion about their relationship. 

 

He was trying things subtle, but the only thing that had changed about their interactions was that Conor couldn’t be bothered to keep his mind from straying during their hours together. He had caught himself just staring into Ned’s eyes, even when the other boy had long since stopped talking, or appreciating how much he moved his hands when he spoke. He also couldn’t help noticing that Ned had been smiling a lot more lately. He just loved to watch Ned...be Ned. Conor also enjoyed how much it pissed him off whenever he called him ‘Eddie.’ Conor was openly enjoying his friendship, and he really wasn’t sorry.

 

After realizing and accepting the changes within him, was Conor going to act on these feelings, or tell Ned how he felt? Being so impulsive, he couldn’t imagine attempting to keep this a secret forever. He was so inept at trying to repress his feelings, and would surely fall down some kind of emotional hole if he tried to. So yes, at some point, he would have to confess, even if he wasn’t sure if his friend shared these feelings. It didn’t have to be any time soon, however; Conor wanted to savor this positive turn in their relationship for as long as he could. 

 

All the while he and his teammates were running their usual pre-practice run, their coach had been shouting about what they needed to work on before their upcoming match. The match wasn’t anything serious, but God forbid Pascal let anyone use that as an excuse to slack off. Conor was as passionate as any of them about rugby though, and let that push him to get better with every game. He loved to be a part of something that his country had so much fervor for about as much as he loved to challenge himself and move his body. Rugby was the only thing that cleared his mind and kept every day interesting. 

 

He so appreciated that Ned was making the effort to get even a little involved in the thing that Conor was so invested in, and wanted to do the same for him. The other night, Ned had gone on and on, raving about his favorite independent films, all of them in black and white. But he never mentioned anything about wanting to take part in any of the things he liked, and Conor was left wondering if there was anything Ned actually wanted to  _ do. _ That was what just about every adult in his life wanted him to do; figure something out, and make money from it. He was lucky that he’d found his passion so early. He decided to find out more about Ned’s interests. Maybe he could encourage him in some way.

 

  _____________________________________________________________________________

  
  


_ Could whatever entity that holds the chain to my soul tell me why my father decided to put me in this school? As I far as I know, he’s never even played rugby. The most he knows, he learned from the television, screaming with the rest of the United Kingdom about ‘tries,’ or whatever. Was he drugged with some kind of deliriant that made him think I would find a secret love for sports and a shallow loyalty to my country, deep in my delinquent bones? It wasn’t like it happened to be close to home or anything, they fucking live in India. Maybe they thought I’d eventually suffocate to death under the weight of school spirit, and they could save on tuition and further fund Natalie’s alcoholism. _

 

_ I swear, that woman’s trying to drink herself to death. That or see if she can outlive my father to get his money, or die trying. Whichever comes first, I suppose. I wonder if I can swindle a couple grand out of her before I graduate. Maybe I’ll tell her she can have my share when he inevitably snuffs it from a heart attack. A boy can dream.  _

 

  _____________________________________________________________________________

  
  


Feeling so drained, and honestly dying for the weekend, Conor slammed face first into his bed as soon as he walked in the door of their room without saying a word. The bed frame creaked loudly in agreement upon feelings its owner’s weight.

 

“The star athlete lifestyle finally getting to you?” Ned greeted, taking off his headphones.

 

Conor simply groaned in response. Ned nodded, despite knowing that he couldn’t see it. “About time, too.”

 

Conor didn’t say anything, opting instead to kick off his shoes and fall into silence. Ned picked up that he probably just wanted to chill out for a while, and returned his headphones over his head, picking up where he left off in his journal. After about fifteen minutes, he wondered if Conor had fallen asleep exactly where he lay. 

 

“Still breathin’ over there?”

 

Conor gave a great sigh to signal life. 

 

“Good, I thought you’d fallen into a coma.” After another stretch without a word from his roommate, he asked, “Did you hear Lukas Graham got caught trying to smuggle some gin into the dorms last night?”

 

Conor finally turned his head to look at Ned. “Damn, I wonder what they did with it.”

 

“Oh dear, fantasies of binge drinking after practice are never a good sign. What’s up?”

 

Conor sighed once again, the drama queen. “Victor told me that Weasel’s trying to get the coach to bench me for the game.”

 

Ned clicked his pen. “Jesus, can’t he give it a rest? I don’t think you have anything to worry about though, if Gerry cares half as much about rugby as he says he does, he’ll keep you in the game.”

 

Conor turned onto his side. “I dunno, though. Even though I’m in it as much as everybody else, he doesn’t give me as much of a beating as the rest, in his weird terms of endearment. Makes me think that he’s still caught up on, ‘The Thing! The Thing!’” He thickened his accent, imitating his coach’s words in the locker room before winning their last official match. “And might listen to whatever Wesley’s tellin’ him. I’m good, but the other guys are have got it just as much as I do. Maybe he’s been looking for an excuse to keep me out.” 

 

Though Ned might never understand what it was about sports that kept people up at night, he knew that Conor’s worries wouldn’t dissipate so easily. 

 

He closed his notebook and put it aside, throwing his legs over the side of his bed. “Hey, he’ll keep you out if he wants to lose this match. I haven’t forgotten how you pretty much single-handedly won the second half of that game, and I doubt anyone else has, either. And though I might be oblivious to the wonders of rugby, I’ve also noticed that you’re like, the fastest guy on the field, and you’ve been getting almost all of your kicks through the...the metal things. What are those called again?”

 

Conor’s face broke out into a reluctant grin across from him. “It’s just the goalpost.” 

 

Ned felt like his work had been done. “Yeah, exactly! I’m not even worried, you’re gonna do great tomorrow.”

 

“I can’t imagine you  _ ever _ being worried about rugby.”

 

Ned shrugged and scooted back to lean on his pillows against the wall. “Well, if I was gonna be worried, it wouldn’t be about that.”

 

Conor finally sat up and pulled a blanket over his shoulders. “Thanks. What’ve you been up to?”

 

“Writing.” Ned said simply.

 

Conor raised an eyebrow. “Writing…?”

 

“Just writing, Conor. I’m gonna enter the essay writing competition. Sherry said I could get out of my detentions if I won.”

 

Conor perked up. “That’s a great idea. What are you gonna write about?”

 

Ned looked at him sharply and grinned. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

 

“Yes, I would.”

 

_ God, Conor, if you could stop being so genuine all the damn time. _

 

Ned looked away and tried to keep the warmth from spreading to his cheeks. “Well, you’ll know if I win.” Conor narrowed his eyes. “But in the meantime, I’ve started just...writing. Writing down whatever I feel like. So maybe when I die one day, someone will pick it up and appreciate how hilarious and charming I am.” 

 

Conor nodded. “That’s cool Ned, maybe when  _ I’m _ on my deathbed, you’ll finally let me read some of it.”

 

Ned rolled his eyes and said with an air of drama, “I guess we’ll just have to wait and see.”

 

  _____________________________________________________________________________

  
  


_ To Mister Walter Curly, _

_ On behalf of the student body, thirty years of graduates, and various rugby leagues from across our magnificent Republic of Ireland, I regret to inform you that your days of youth have regrettably ended. Just like the days of late-stage capitalism are running short, as are yours. To all, there must come a day where we must accept our mortality, and wave a solemn goodbye to our childhood innocence as it fades into the fogs of time. Not a soul can escape the inevitable hands of Death as we leave this earthly realm to be carried on to another, or worse - the cold grip of retirement. Please take this friendly advice to heart, and accept it as truth as you hold it close to your chest, and mark your calendar.  _

 

_ Sincerest Condolences, _

_ -Edwin Michael Roche _

 

  ______________________________________________________________________________

  
  


Ned had only ever been to one rugby game, and even that had been longer than expected. So he had been appalled to find out that the two halves of the game were both forty minutes long including penalties and whatnot, totalling into over eighty minutes of his life that he wouldn’t be getting back. 

 

It was Friday at last, and Ned knew he’d be allowed to skip detention for a game, because  _ fuck priorities at this school, I guess _ . He was on the bus with the other student spectators, drowning himself in his music (bless his ipod, he otherwise wasn’t able to survive without his phone,) and holding onto the school jersey he’d picked up from the box before boarding the shuttle. He didn’t want anyone thinking he was genuinely getting into the school spirit until he was already in the bleachers. The ride was long, and as much as he wanted to get out his notebook, he couldn’t run the risk of anyone snatching it up and reading it. He wished Conor could ride with him, but there wasn’t anything on God’s green earth that could make him sit in a cramped moving vehicle with Woodhill College’s finest.   

 

An hour and a whirlwind of people later, he was sitting closer than he usually would in the bleachers during practices in a field in Derry, blending into a wave of yellow and blue, and the whistle sounding off, signaling the start of the game. 

 

And honestly, Ned knew he wouldn’t remember any of it. He couldn’t even try to pretend, he just simply didn’t care about any of these plays, goals, or penalties. Although, he had cringed a little whenever Conor got tackled. But other than him, he didn’t know who was who, who was where, or what they were doing. But he was enjoying the opportunity to look at Conor as much as he wanted during this time. And alright, maybe he  _ was _ letting the bubbling excitement get to him just a little. Everyone there was just so pumped about whatever was happening, cheering wildly when the team scored, groaning when someone got particularly beat up, and jeering at the referee whenever he made a call they didn’t like. 

 

Ned might have been enjoying himself. Possibly. 

 

And besides, Conor looked so  _ good _ out on the field. It was obvious that he was giving it his all, and it looked as though he was omniscient, completely aware of everything happening around him and reacting with a lightning speed. An advantage to sitting just a few steps up from the ground was that Ned could see every look on Conor’s face, from deep concentration, to irritation, to elation. He was enjoying every second of that. While everyone else was focusing on how many goals each team was scoring on their respective sides, Ned was getting riled up from all the excitement and energy radiating off of the other boy.

 

Conor was hot.

 

_ I mean, goddamn, _ he thought. Conor was fucking strutting around the pitch, dripped in sweat, running a hand through his hair to push it out of his face, and Ned was supposed to act like a switch hadn’t just flipped in his brain? And as though he knew Ned was sitting there having a crisis about it, he kept pulling up the front of his jersey to wipe the sweat off of his face, revealing a rock hard abdomen, and Ned thought that this shit should be outlawed. It was like Conor was breathing in slow motion. He leaned forward with his hands on his knees, turning away from Ned at just the right angle, and he didn’t dare look away. And there was something about the way the team had picked each other up by the waist so effortlessly to catch the ball being thrown down the line that was egregiously enchanting. How the rest of the rugby team denied their hidden homosexuality was beyond him. 

 

During the halfway break that divided the game, Conor had sneaked a few glances over in Ned’s direction with a look of such pure joy on his face that he couldn’t help but return as soon as he saw it. He hoped he wasn’t blushing too much, but knew that if he was, there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it. Conor just looked too gorgeous out there, and Ned couldn’t find it within himself to feel even the slightest bit guilty. 

 

As much as he was delighting in getting to gape at Conor as much as he liked, he was so relieved when the final whistle was blown, and the onlookers screamed somehow even louder than before. Ned looked at the scoreboard to see that Woodhill College had won by just three points, and their team was slamming into one another, reveling in their win. 

 

  _____________________________________________________________________________

  
  


_ I like seeing you win. Your face positively lights up with triumph, and you look invincible. Honestly though, I still think you’d look just as good if you lost. _

 

_ But still, isn’t it weird that humans have evolved to be the most intelligent species on earth over thousands of years, just to link up and kick the shit out of each other for sport? _

 

_   _____________________________________________________________________________ _

  
  


Conor was still riding out the high of their win in the showers after the last half, and knew that it  wouldn’t be long before his body crashed from sheer exhaustion. It felt so good to beat another team on someone else’s home field. The boys were still just as energized as they got dressed and prepared to meet the other students before going back home, so not everyone noticed when Weasel walked up to Conor and leaned an elbow against the lockers in his signature way, and said jovially, “Conor, that was a sick pass back there, mate! You really got me there.” 

 

Conor looked back at him suspiciously. “Thanks, I guess.”

 

Weasel stared at him feverishly and couldn’t seem to stop moving. He was almost vibrating with energy. “No, no, now that was really great! Yeah, man, the way you completely passed me by when you tossed the ball to Stevens, even though the play was that you’d throw it to me to get past the line, yeah, really had me goin’ there.” He was smiling, but Conor could see the wild malice in his eyes as clear as day. 

 

“Stevens was further from the other team than you were, Weasel, they would’ve tackled you in a second.”

 

Weasel was still laughing, and he suddenly slammed his fist on the locker next to him, slowly drawing the attention of a couple of boys in their vicinity. 

 

“Oh! Sayin’ I’m not fast enough now, are ya?” He threw his hand against the locker again, harder this time. 

 

They’d caught the ever watchful eye of Victor, who was suddenly at Weasel’s side. “Mate, relax, alright?” He said and grabbed his shoulder, but Weasel threw him off.

 

“What? I’m just talkin’ to my good friend Conor about why he didn’t fuckin’ pass to me back there, that’s all!” His smile had turned into a grimace, and he was suddenly walking very quickly towards Conor before he had time to process the sudden situation. 

 

In the second before Victor made another grab at him, Weasel had slammed his head straight into Conor’s face, crushing his nose instantly. The room went silent at the sound of a  _ snap _ and Victor shouting, “Woah, Wesley! Chill the fuck out!” 

 

Victor was pushing his friend away from the crowd, but Weasel was still laughing. “Hey, it’s nothing! Eye for an eye, right, Conor?”

 

Conor, not even feeling the pain, had instinctively jumped back out at him, but someone had grabbed him from behind before he could move any further. He shook himself out of their grip, and turned to grab his duffel. He didn’t say a word as walked out the door out into the night, blood dripping down his face.

 

  _____________________________________________________________________________

  
  


_ How anyone could think that humans, and therefore teenage boys, are any different than wild animals is beyond me. From what I’ve learned about wildlife, courtesy of BBC and David Attenborough, young men and wild hippos tear each other up in the exact same way, with even the slightest provocation.  _

 

_ I, on the other hand, consider myself to be more like a red panda, perfectly content to live my happy life of solitude and staying the fuck away from all that foolishness. Red pandas, you’re doing it right.  _

 

  _____________________________________________________________________________

  
  


Ned was expertly avoiding the excitable crowd once they all flocked off the bleachers and went god knows where. He was cherishing his hard earned silence with a rollie in between his fingers, still picturing the look on Conor’s face when they won, when he heard leaves crunching a few meters away, and there was Conor, appearing in the darkness. It was truly amazing how skilled he was getting in hunting down Ned. He opened his mouth to share his congratulations as he drew closer, until he saw that Conor was completely drenched in blood.

 

“Conor! What the fuck happened to you?” He raced over, closing the distance between them amidst the trees. He looked at his friend in horror when he got a closer look at his face. “Oh my God. That didn’t happen during the game, did it?”

He got his answer when Conor dropped his bag and silently pulled Ned tight into his chest, his hands moving around his shoulders and gently onto his back, resting his chin in his hair and whispered, “Let’s take the train back to school.” 

 

Ned instinctively wrapped his arms around Conor’s waist and hugged him back, not caring that he’d definitely get blood in his hair, and said into the hug, “Sure, Conor. Let’s get out of here.”

 

  _____________________________________________________________________________

  
  


_ One day I’ll be living so good, I’ll remember your name, I swear. _

_ One day we’ll be living so good, we’ll remember no pain, I swear it. _

_ I know that blood is probably the most normal thing about rugby, and that just makes me hate it more. Why can’t we live life like we’re alone all the time, and get away from anything that’s out to get us? You probably think you worry more about me being in a place like this, but now I’m thinking I’ll have to prove you wrong. In that field, in that locker room, surrounded by all that blood and anger, when you’re just trying to love what you do. Stay safe. _

 

_   _____________________________________________________________________________ _

  
  



	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Conor and Ned chill out after Conor gets beat, and then mischief and elaborate high school shenanagins ensue! Conor also receives an unexpected message and Ned's being...social?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I laughed so much while writing this chapter, and writing Ned's journal entries gives me so much joy. Have fun, and feel free to leave a comment!

On their way to find out where the nearest train station was, Ned and Conor ran into Victor in the school’s parking lot, clearly frustrated, but quickly looking guilty as soon as he saw them and the state of Conor. He jogged over to them as soon as he spotted them.

 

“Conor, I’m sorry mate. I have no idea what he was on, but that fucking sucked. You look terrible, man.” 

 

“I’m fine. Ned and I are gonna catch the train back.” Victor’s eyes moved to Ned’s and he nodded. 

 

“Sure thing, I’ll let Pascal know. Just make sure you get that checked out, alright?”

 

“Sure.” Conor replied, and began to walk away.

 

Ned looked at Victor and gave a small smile before following his friend down the road. “Thanks, Victor.”

 

After a silent cab drive to the train station, Ned made Conor go into the station bathroom with him to wash the blood out of his hair and told him to do the same and change his shirt before boarding. They barely spoke a word as they got on the train and it began to move forward, and Ned had no intention of breaking the silence. He didn’t need to know the specifics of what’d happened yet. He and Conor sat down next to each other and he looked out the window into the night. How many more times would they be in a situation like this before they were out of school? He was absentmindedly glad that he was still wearing his jersey when Conor hugged him, sparing his own shirt from the blood. The amount of blood he lost was disturbing. He looked up at Conor next to him a few minutes after departing to find him fast asleep, his arms crossed over his chest and head leaning back against the seat.

 

  _____________________________________________________________________________

_ Even though I’m sitting here with blood probably drying in my hair, I still feel so lucky to be sitting here next to you. _

_ Thank you for finding me first. _

 

  _____________________________________________________________________________

  
  


The first thing Conor’s brain could process the next morning was the deep, throbbing, ache in the center of his face and in his head. It took him a moment to remember why he was in so much pain, and his heart fell as soon as he remembered. Right. He couldn’t even move, his head felt like it weighed a ton against his pillow, and it hurt too much to even try to open his eyes.

 

He didn’t even have the energy to be pissed off about the sudden attack. It’s not like he never expected Weasel to lash out at some point, but after a win, it had been unexpected. But honestly, maybe he deserved to get his nose smashed in at some point, eventually. He  _ did _ beat the shit out of his teammate his first day on the field, after all. But Weasel’s nose hadn’t even broken then. Conor knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that his own nose was shattered. 

 

God, what was that kid’s problem? He hated gay people, sure, but Conor didn’t think it was entirely about that, though. Maybe he just needed someone to hate, and was letting his jealousy take over. But Weasel didn’t have anything to worry about on the team. He wasn’t exactly living in Conor’s shadow; he was good at rugby, and would probably have a chance at being captain if he wasn’t such a shitty person. Conor remembered what he’d said about promising his dying father that he’d win the championships, and thought that maybe he believed he was letting him down by not being the best. Conor hoped that he would figure that shit out and do it soon, because he wasn’t going to take any more beatings.

 

He was so glad that Ned was nowhere to be found during the incident. He really wasn’t ready to get into any more fights, and wanted his friend to have no part in this. From his right, he heard the boy in question sit up in his bed, and turned his head towards him, finally opening his eyes. Everything hurt. 

 

“Jesus, Conor, what a sight.” He quickly threw his covers off and jumped over to kneel at the side of Conor’s bed, looking at him as though he was in terminal condition.

 

“Good morning to you, too.”

 

Ned rolled his eyes. “I’ll try not to say this too much, but you look absolutely terrible. You’re totally swollen, and your nose is still bleeding.”

 

Conor lifted a hand to gingerly inspect his face, and removed it to see blood on his fingers. “I’ll do my best not to sneeze.” He said, sounding stuffier than usual.

 

Ned squinted at him, and sat down on the floor, staying close to his side. “Hilarious. I don’t need to guess what happened, I know that whatever it is was bullshit.”

 

“You got that right.” He sat up, the throbbing in his temples increasing by tenfold and grabbed a tissue by his bed to put up to his face. 

 

“How bad is it?”

 

Conor leaned against the wall. “Worse than when I punched Weasel that one time, that’s for sure. My head is fucking killing me.”

 

Ned stood up and rubbed his eyes. “Well, get dressed then. We’re going to the see the hospital.” He already began removing his shirt, but Conor layed back down in his bed in protest.

 

“No, not yet, please. I just woke up, and I’m not moving for at least another hour.”

 

Ned turned to look at him in disbelief. “Not a chance! I don’t know much about broken cartilage, but I’m sure that it’s not good to let you bleed out for another hour.”

 

Conor sighed. “Fine. There’s no way I’m getting any homework done this weekend, though.”

 

  _____________________________________________________________________________

  
  


Conor spent the weekend quietly avoiding his homework and everyone besides his roommate, the consistent ache in his face halting any kind of productivity he had planned. After it was confirmed that yes, his nose was indeed broken, the matron had done what she could to straighten it out and stop the flow of blood, but informed him that it’d probably bleed a couple more times throughout the next few days. But it seemed like the only thing to do was wait for it to not be broken anymore, and avoid causing further damage. 

 

He and Ned took it easy over the weekend as the two days dissolved any remaining tension. 

 

  _____________________________________________________________________________

  
  


_ It’s odd that this has been the sunniest autumn at Woodhill College since I was forcefully enrolled, or maybe I just never noticed before you showed up. November’s almost here and you’ve still managed to stay by my side.  _

 

_ I like hugging you, by the way. Rugby can’t be all bad; your abs are rock solid, and it’s obvious. And you’re like, the only person around here who’s height isn’t intimidating. You’re surprisingly burly, but not in an ‘I can kill you at any moment’ kinda way. God, I hope you never read this. _

 

_ * _

 

_ When we were in the bathroom at the train station, trying to erase all the evidence of whatever happened, I couldn’t help but think that it was kinda like how we sometimes end up brushing our teeth at the same time in the evenings. That felt kind of morbid, actually.  _

 

_ You haven’t said too much about getting clocked in the face, but I guess I wouldn’t want to talk about it much either. God, seeing your face bruise up like this sucks. It makes me wish I could do something, anything, about this. But I’m starting to feel kind of helpless. And what about after this? Is Weasel gonna decide that we’re getting too close and do something actually terrifying? Even though things can get so tense, I feel safer than ever now that you’re here.   _

 

_ * _

 

_ I swear to God, Conor, if you use my toothbrush ever again, I’ll replace your toothpaste with glue. That’s fucking gross. You owe me a new one. _

 

_ * _

 

_ How does anyone expect us to be such clean cut Irish boys if there’s no one around here to cut my hair? I have a stereotype to uphold, and I can’t be the Classically Manicured Gay if I have to cut it myself in the over the bathroom sink holding a mirror behind my head. I wonder if Conor would let me cut his sometime, bangs aren’t really working for him.  _

 

_ My roots are growing out too much for my liking, maybe I’ll go blonde next. _

 

_ * _

 

_ Turns out I’m having way more fun than expected coming up with my story for the essay competition. Maybe writing could actually be something to hyperfixate on and go deep into debt over. When I finish the essay, I’ll call it something stupid so no one thinks I’m being too serious. _

 

_ * _

 

_ Has anyone told you that you start snoring, just a little, right after you fall asleep? It always takes me forever, but I got used to all the sounds you make in your sleep. Sometimes you sigh when you turn over. You really do sigh A LOT, you know. And people say I’m dramatic. Sometimes I wake up to your restlessness, find you moving around and mumbling, but I can never understand what you’re saying. _

 

_ I wonder what you’re dreaming about. _

 

_   _____________________________________________________________________________ _

  
  


Even though evidence of the aftermath of the match was clearly evident on Conor’s face, on Monday, it was like it never happened. He definitely didn’t have any intentions of talking to Wesley if he didn’t have to, but no one said anything about it, and he wasn’t really surprised. Violence was a natural element of rugby, after all. 

 

As was fucking with each other, apparently. Following afternoon practice, Josh Crawford brought up the idea of pulling a prank on their coach from his spot in the showers, and the rest of the team had jumped on board with the idea immediately.

When Conor returned to the dorm with Victor and Wallace in tow, Ned knew something was up. Conor had been right before when he said that team visits to their room would fade over time, so this one was unexpected. Jocks always had such a knack for invading other’s spaces like it was their own, and this time was no different. Wallace sat in Ned’s desk chair and Victor sat on the end of his bed. An indignant suspicion rose up in him, but supposed that Conor had the right to bring his friends around if he wanted, and he knew that things were cool with Victor.

 

Victor, after making himself comfortable on his bed, looked directly at Ned and asked, his voice dripping with mischief, “Ned, how would you feel about taking part in an elaborate scheme?”

 

Ned looked at Conor, who was grinning at the floor with his arms crossed. He looked back at Victor, fascinated by this sudden proposition. “Consider me intrigued. What’s going on?”

 

“Well, considering that it’s mine and some other guy’s last year before we graduate, we want to take advantage of the time we have left. Every year, at least once, the rugby team pulls a prank on Pascal, to show our appreciation. After getting some ideas after practice, we’ve decided to uphold the tradition. We don’t usually get too many other people involved in case something goes wrong, but Conor thought you’d be up for the challenge.”

 

Ned narrowed his eyes at Conor, who had moved his eyes up back up to him. “That’s interesting, since Conor knows I’m  _ still _ in detention, and that if I get caught doing something stupid, I’ll likely never get out.” 

 

Victor shrugged. “That’s alright, just thought we’d give you the option.”

 

Ned couldn’t stop himself. “Well, I didn’t say I’m not interested. What do you have in mind?”

 

Victor grinned. “I thought you’d say something like that. We just want to give Pascal a hard time, to show him that we really do care.”

 

“That’s an odd way to show affection, but I can’t say I’m surprised anymore.”

 

“So, Josh said something about wanting an excuse to break into his car, for starters.” Wallace spoke up and Ned listened with obvious exasperation. “And Charlie says that we should figure out a way to fill it with wheat or something.”

 

Conor spoke for the first time since entering the room. “I’ve got a better idea. We could use rock salt.”

 

Ned was impressed by his brazen attitude. “How poetic, giving Gerard a bitter pill that’s as salty as his prejudices.”

 

“Gerard?” Victor asked with confusion.

 

“It’s my own personal pet name for him. And anyway, I feel like you could achieve the same effect by just slashing his tires, but whatever. Consider me involved.”

 

Victor turned to look at Wallace, spinning slightly in the chair. “Wally, your cousin that lives by, he’s got a truck, right?”

 

  _____________________________________________________________________________

  
  


_ I didn’t know that rugby players had the ability to think in such detail and actually manage to organize themselves in any way. Of course, Victor’s the mastermind behind it all. Not to make friends or anything, but he’s actually really cool. I think we could have been friends had he not chosen to spend so much time with a thug. Otherwise, how kind of him to consider asking for my own deviant advice. _

 

  _____________________________________________________________________________

  
  


The plan took three days to work out and for the team to gather a couple other stragglers to cover all the bases of this prank. Ned was thoroughly impressed by how efficiently they gave everyone a job and proceeded along with planning each one. 

 

It hadn’t been a problem procuring the salt; Payton Walsh’s father owned the company that provided all the school’s food and knew how to find out where the mass product was stored. Luckily, it hadn’t been too far away, and Wally got his cousin to transport it from that warehouse to an old shed off the edge of campus. All twelve-hundred and fifty pounds of it. Ned had been the one to suggest to the few who knew of his involvement to go a step further, by pouring salt into each and every drawer, cabinet, and crevice of Pascal’s office. Victor had the idea of filling up the coach’s car trunk with it as well, to which they all thought was cruel, but too good of an idea to resist putting it into action.

 

They procured all the supplies they needed in the following days, from funnels, to trollies, to a couple wheelbarrows and then some. They organized everyone’s positions; the strongest boys would be doing all the heavy lifting, emptying the burlap sacks into the coach’s brand new SUV, while some were assigned to transport the salt efficiently to the parking lot and into Pascal’s office, (which happened to be up three flights of stairs. Thanks, Ned.) Ned and some others that weren’t on the team had the job of standing guard in certain positions, and had set up a network for information to travel, lest a teacher be where he wasn’t expected and they had to regroup.

 

The night that the plan was scheduled to take place was an exciting one, to be sure. Stephen Lewis was going to ask for a one on one practice with Pascal, since he was having trouble with his throw distance, and get the coach’s keys off of him. It was fairly easy, since he always wore them on a carabiner attached to his belt loop. A couple days prior, Darcy had found out that Pascal didn’t lock the door to his quarters before going to dinner, so they knew he’d be able to get back in without realizing his keys were missing. He’d also discovered that Pascal would be cancelling practice that morning to go into town; it was as though this plan was predestined to unfold.

 

After night fell and the school’s lights were extinguished on Wednesday night, the plan was set into action. The group moved simultaneously, as though they’d started a play in another match, one that they practiced for days. Four boys went out to the shed and filled up the wheelbarrows with the salt, twenty-five bags of it, in fact. It was then wheeled to the parking lot and hauled into the main building and up the stairs. In the parking lot, they met up with five more players, who managed to shovel the rock salt into the coach’s glove compartment, cup holders, and center console, while the others simply poured it directly out of the bags into his trunk and filled up the front and back seat through the open windows. 

 

Meanwhile, on the third floor, ten boys, including Conor, were hauling one bag each up the stairs, all of them quietly cursing the lack of an elevator, to deliver to six more waiting outside his office, unlocking the door with a key they had removed from the ring. Once inside, they made short work of hiding the salt into every area they could find. Will Murphy poured out every one of the liquor bottles from the shelf (and honestly, this man had too many) and into large jars provided by the kitchen, and kindly labeled for each type of alcohol. The boys funneled the salt into the now empty bottles, filled every crystal glass and decanter, and shoveled it into every desk and dresser drawer they could find. (There wasn’t much in there to begin with anyway.) 

 

That shit was everywhere. In the light bulbs, vases, and lining every windowsill; these boys had expertly infected his space with sodium chloride, and knew that he’d be finding it for weeks. They had tried to do as much cleanup as possible, not wanting to leave any evidence until it was inevitable. However, they did leave the empty burlap sacks to cover the leather chair, along with neatly lining up each jar on the desk. The wood furniture creaked with the sudden weight, and the boys were left in darkness after likely destroying every light bulb. 

 

Ned had been stationed with Wallace at the stairwell on the landing of the second floor, and could faintly hear the muffled laughter of the players upstairs. Conor had passed him by about ten minutes ago, lugging the heavy bags up the stairs, giving him an excited smile as he passed. Ned was almost delirious with anticipation to hear Pascal’s reaction the following morning.

 

At about three am, Ned was given the keys and sent to return them to the rugby master’s door, leaving a thin half circle of salt outside of the opening and placing them on the floor, grinning all the time.

 

  _____________________________________________________________________________

  
  


_ Christ, no one told me that being a teenage delinquent would result in such lack of sleep. _

 

  _____________________________________________________________________________

 

Approximately four hours later, some of the boys, including Ned and Conor, surprisingly, had decided to stay up with Victor and Wally and wait for Coach to go to his car the next morning. His reaction would definitely be worth the sleep deprivation. At around five am, Wally brought up a bottle of whiskey that his cousin had given him. His cousin, a graduate from Woodhill College, had been more than happy to help in their scheme, and gifted him with the liquor for his troubles.

 

“Wallace, are you fucking serious? We have class in three hours and you’re up here to do shots?” Darcy asked, flabbergasted.

 

“What? You’ll be sober in three hours.” He said with a wicked smile, and twisted off the top.

 

Victor laughed. “You won’t catch  _ my _ ass in classes today. I’m sleepin’ until afternoon practice. I can’t wait to see the look on his face!” He took the bottle from Wally before he had a chance to drink, and took a swig for himself before passing it on to Darcy. 

 

“Yeah, I expect he’ll be pretty pissy for the next week or so. Especially when he finds out we replaced all his office sugar with salt.” Darcy took a ginger sip from the bottle and his face scrunched up. Coughing, he passed the bottle to his right.

 

Daylight had just begun to break out over the hills. Conor took his turn to drink and asked, “He’s not gonna make us do anything crazy today when he finds out, is he? Like...really stupid?” He handed the bottle to onto Ned, who grabbed it without putting his mouth to it and passed it back to Wally, who hadn’t yet had a taste.

 

Victor shrugged and replied, “He’ll probably shout at us for about fifteen minutes, call us all sorts of shit, and make us do some  _ heavy _ drills. So I suggest you lads find some way to wake yourselves up today, cause it’s gonna be a bitch.”

 

Ned lit up the cigarette between his lips. “Filling the pockets of the coats in his closet was genius. Rest in peace, boys.”

 

Wally attempted to give the bottle back to him. “Have a drink Ned, you’re the one who thought to get into his office in the first place.”

 

Ned shook his head, handing Wally his smoke when he asked. “No way, I’m trying  _ not _ to puke during first period, thanks very much.”

 

“Your loss.” Victor shrugged as he took another drink. 

 

Darcy rolled his eyes. “Victor, just cause you’re graduating with a scholarship doesn’t mean that they won’t put you in detention for skipping class.”

 

Ned laughed. “Ha! Beats getting suspended for being  _ hammered _ ,” He emphasized these words as he looked at Conor, who had taken another swig, “At eight in the morning during class! I’m with Victor on this one, I’ll be in detention either way.”

 

“Ned,  _ relax _ . It takes way more than this for rugby players to get wasted.” Wallace handed Ned his rollie back.

 

“Star athletes or not, you’re still boys who can barely get into a bar.”

 

Ned was actually, unbelievably, having fun with this group of boys. Even among his increasing fatigue, he was glad that he and Conor decided to stay up with them to see the result of their hard work. The sun lifted itself slowly into the sky, and at last, the moment of truth was upon them.

 

They’d been leaning over the side of the building, waiting for Pascal’s arrival when their target had finally walked out the front doors. Victor, the drunkest of them all, could hardly contain his giggles, and though they likely couldn’t be heard, Darcy still punched his arm to shut him up. 

 

“Ned, you put the keys outside his door, right?” Conor asked beside him.

 

“Yeah, I left him a little hint of what’s to come, too.” Ned smirked.

 

Pascal was looking at his phone as he approached his car, so he hadn’t bothered to look into the windows. When he opened his door, though, it was unavoidable. 

 

A wave of glimmering white salt poured out of the driver’s seat and onto his feet. Pascal was stunned into silence, but not for long. He dropped his mug of coffee on the concrete, it shattering as soon as it hit the ground and he shouted, loud enough for the boys to hear, “What the everloving  _ FUCK _ ?” 

 

He moved around the car, opening every door and witnessing the damage before looking around him, as though he could sense the silently howling boys above him. He stumbled with his keys before opening the trunk and sifting wildly through the salt with his hands. He leaned over with his hands on his knees and screamed into the quiet morning, his anger echoing in the trees around them.

 

The boys could hardly contain themselves. Victor had fallen to the ground, clutching his abdomen and almost crying with laughter. The rest of them simply lost their cool at the sight of Victor, positively rolling around in glee.

 

“Gerard doesn’t have a pacemaker, does he?”

 

It had most definitely been worth it.

 

  _____________________________________________________________________________

  
  


_ I’m so tired. But not as tired as Conor probably is, he diligently went to all of his classes and then practice, the good boy that he is. I treated myself to a well deserved morning-long nap. This was probably the best twenty-four hours I’ve ever had in this institution.  _

_ During English, Mr Sherry and the rest of us were blessed with the sounds of Gerard’s heavenly screaming from above, and I realized he’d probably discovered that his office was hit too. I could tell that Mr Sherry was trying not to laugh, but he really couldn’t hide it. It was so fucking funny. When we heard the sound of glass breaking, I hoped that he’d thrown a vase at the wall, only to find that it, too, was filled with salt. Wally told me that they really did get it everywhere. I hope Gerard has a hoover.  _

 

_ This morning we watched him frantically throwing the salt out of the driver’s seat with his hands for like, thirty minutes. Hopefully this will help him consider the safety of his players a little more.  _

 

_ Anyway, the essay writing competition is after detention, and I’m trying not to be nervous. I’m as rested as I can be after staying up for twenty-four hours, and I feel like I’ve got my outline ready. Hopefully I’ll be seeing my last detention soon. I’ve gotten so used to it, I don’t even know what I’ll do with the extra time. Maybe I’ll write a book or something. _

 

_ I’m not looking to excuse teenage alcoholism, but Victor is fucking hilarious when he’s drunk. He kept leaning on Wally and talking about how the honor’s system is bullshit. I agreed. I’ll have to ask him for his personal account of today’s practice. _

 

_ Whenever I looked at Conor’s still severely bruised face today, his eyes kept closing. Poor man was trying so hard to stay awake. Eventually I looked to see him sleeping with his head on his desk, and I considered seeing if he would make that snoring noise in class, but I thought it’d be kinder to wake him up instead. I can’t wait to hear about practice. That’s new.  _

 

  _____________________________________________________________________________

  
  


After sitting in another hard seat for the ninety minutes that was the essay competition, Ned walked in to his room, pleased to see Victor and his roommate already there, complaining animatedly. Well, Victor had been animated. Conor on the other hand, was lying on his bed facing the ceiling.

 

“So, how’d it go?” Ned asked immediately, setting down his bag sitting in his desk chair.

 

Conor looked up at him. “How’d it go with the competition?”

 

Ned scoffed at him. “Hearing about your practice from hell is far more important right now, Conor.”

 

Victor chuckled, leaning back against Ned’s bed from the floor. “It definitely  _ was _ hell. Pascal must have shouted obscenities at us for about an hour, you’re lucky you weren’t there, it was so boring.”

 

“Yeah, I thought you’d want to be a witness.” Conor added.

 

“Please, I was gettin’ my beauty sleep.” He replied.

 

“At least I’ll be sleeping better than any of you, tonight. I worked my ass off.” 

 

“Coach had us run laps for an  _ hour and a half, _ Ned. Then he made us practice tackling for another hour. We only just got back. I swear, he was trying to get at least one of to collapse from exhaustion. Wally had to leave to puke and he still made him come back.” Victor leaned his head back.

 

“Gross.” Ned said simply. He was glad for every day that he wasn’t a rugby player.

 

  ______________________________________________________________________________

  
  


The next day, Conor went to the post office upon being told that he received a letter. It was probably his mother writing to make sure that he was staying out of trouble, and he really didn’t want to lie and tell her that he was, so he was relieved when he saw that the letter wasn’t from her, it was from Janey. 

 

He waited until he was back in the dorm while Ned was in detention before sitting down at his desk and opening it. 

 

_ Dear Conor, _

 

_ Hey baby brother! I’ve been missing you, it’s been too long since we’ve seen each other. California is as beautiful as ever, and even though I’ve been here for two years, people around here still can’t seem to get enough of my accent. I’m pretty sure it’s starting to slip away actually, thank god. You’d love it here, Conor. It’s sunny every day, except in the morning when the fog rolls in. The fog in San Francisco reminds of the fog in Ireland, and it feels more like home all the time.  _

_ How’s school going? How’s rugby? How’s everything?! Most people around here have never even heard of it, so I know if Dad tried to come here to get me he wouldn’t be able to last ten minutes. I’m so curious about your life after switching schools. Are things better? Do you still get into fights? Are you still the best player ever? _

_ Don’t hesitate to write me back, this is already gonna take forever to get to you. It’s so stupid that they don’t let you have mobile phones in boarding school. _

_ I love you, Conor. _

 

_ With love, _

_ Janey _

  
  
  
  
  



	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some angst! ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was really just taking it easy with this chapter, and we dive into more of Ned's backstory :)

_Dear Janey,_

 

_You have no idea how glad I am to hear from you. You wouldn’t believe all the crazy shit that’s gone down since I got to this school. For starters, yesterday we pulled a prank on the rugby coach, Pascal. The whole team filled his car and his office with rock salt in the middle of the night, we stayed up to see his reaction, and I had to go to class and practice afterwards. So that was insane. Last week, my piece of shit teammate headbutted me in the face and broke my nose after a game, and it still hurts so much._

 

_Also, everyone in school knows I’m gay...and it’s cool. For the most part. Weasel (the guy who hit me,) has to be homophobic on top of wanting to be team captain, so that’s a consistent problem. I’m worried he’s going to go after Ned if I don’t keep an eye on him._

_Ned’s my roommate. God, Janey, you’d love him. He’s so funny and gives me shit all the time, just like you and I do. He never had any friends before I started at Woodhill, but now I think he’s starting to open himself up to new people. He’s gay too, and he used to get bullied so bad about it. Now he spends all his time writing in his journal that I’m not allowed to read, and he seems happier. I’m trying to see if I can encourage him to pursue writing or something, I feel bad that I have rugby as a ‘thing,’ but he hasn’t found his yet._

 

_There’s no doubt about it, I’m completely falling for him. I feel so comfortable around him, and I can’t even fathom why he’s never had any friends. He’s a punk and tries to act like he doesn’t care, but I can see right through him. And he’s so fucking smart. He knows about everything! He’s always reading books about communism or the punk revolution and things like that. He doesn’t give a fuck about rugby at all, but he comes to my practices and matches anyway._

_Sometimes I think he might feel the same way about me, but I don’t want to assume anything. I’m like, his first friend, so maybe he’s just excited to have someone to talk to. I love hearing him talk._

_I’ve never had a crush on anyone before, and as much as I’m enjoying it, I don’t know where to go from here. I know that I won’t be able to keep this a secret forever, but there’s no one else to talk to about it around here. I want to be with him, but I don’t know what that looks like in the real world, much less this place where I’m worried that either one of us could get jumped. Telling him how I feel could just complicate things even more, and I don’t want that._

 

_A while ago, Pascal tried to kick me off the team when Ned outed me (long story,) but the rest of the team, except Weasel, backed me up, and said they wouldn’t play without me. That was really cool._

_I don’t want to fight anymore, Janey. I just want to be myself without feeling like I have to be so careful all the time, and I want the same for Ned. He sticks out like a sore thumb, but he’s perfect the way he is._

 

_Love you, sister_

 

_Conor_

 

  _______________________________________________________________________________________________________

  


_It can’t just be me and Conor here, right? Statistically, we can’t be the only gay kids in a school of at over three-hundred students. Who are they? Where are they? Are they waiting until graduation to come out? I wish I could’ve pulled that off. How strange would it be if Ireland statistically had the least number of gay men? I could stand out even more._

 

_It’s starting to get colder, and I’m starting to get upset about it. Winter is coming._

 

  _______________________________________________________________________________________________________

  


Ned was attempting to wrap himself up on a brisk Monday in November, bracing himself from the season’s chill as he sat inside the abandoned swimming pool. Well, abandoned until May, when summer would rear its head. The pool had been drained long ago, and Ned found that he would be safe from the cold winds from reaching his bones down there. He _dared_ Conor to find him in this spot.

 

Shortly after wondering if he should head back up to school to look for Conor, he very quickly learned that he had been discovered, but not by his roommate.

 

Ned received a genuine shock to his soul when Darcy suddenly appeared over the edge of the pool, threw his arms back and his head up to the sky, and released a cry of pure anguish.

 

“Same!” Called Ned out, clutching his chest and looking for signs of a heart attack.

 

Darcy jumped about a meter into the air and looked as surprised as Ned felt. He looked down at him while Ned hopped up to climb up the ladder and out of the pool.

 

“I’ll be sending you the hospital bill following my cardiac arrest.” He said, pulling himself up to the edge.

 

“Sorry Ned, I had no idea anyone would be here. What were you doin’ down there anyway?”

 

Ned shrugged. “I consider myself an expert on finding hidden corners around campus, and it’s not so cold down there.” He sat down with his legs over the edge of the pool and rolled up. “So what’s eating you?”

 

Darcy sat next to him, accepting the invitation to vent. “Rugby is just fucking killing me. I’ve always gotten tired from it all, but it’s getting so much worse now. I’m completely exhausted all the time and can’t be bothered to do my homework, so my grades are getting worse. My body hurts _constantly_ and I can’t imagine training twice a day every day for much longer, or else I’m gonna fail all my classes, but I’m afraid to quit the team. I don’t want to get socially cast out or anything, and I’m worried I’ll lose my friends if I decide to do something else. I like rugby, it’s a good game, but I don’t think I want to be in it anymore. Dealing with Pascal every day is murder, it’s like a bootcamp with him. And I’m gettin’ real tired of how bruising it all is.”

 

Finally, something Ned understood. “Something I’ve learned recently is that rugby players seem to come to you instead of the other way around. For years, I’ve tried my damndest to stay as far away from that shit, and somehow I ended up with them in my room, going to matches, and staying up all night with them, when it really was the least of my intentions. Why would the guys you’re already friends with care if you decided to quit?”

 

Darcy leaned back on his hands. “You know what it’s like here, Ned. If you renounce the religion, you get exiled.”

 

“That’s the gospel truth. What else do you want to do?”

 

Darcy thought for a moment. “I think I’d want to see what theatre is like. We’re so young, ya know? I want to feel like I have time to figure it out.”

 

“I get that. Well, Victor seems like a good guy, and Wally’s cool, too. I’m sure they would still want to be friends with you if you tried out other things. Conor too, especially.”

 

Darcy looked down into the empty pool. “Man, Conor’s really fuckin’ cool. He stayed on the team after Pascal tried to kick him off, and kept being as good as he is like nothin’ had changed, and he’s not afraid of anybody. I don’t think I’d be brave enough to do that. Not when there are guys like Weasel around.”

 

Ned was so relieved to hear this, and it felt like a small weight had been lifted off of his shoulders. “He wouldn’t have been able to do that if you guys hadn’t stood up for him. He’s really thankful for that, and so am I.”

 

Darcy gave him a genuine smile. “Of course, man! I knew he must’ve been a good guy as soon as he gave Weasel a pounding on his first day. And besides, I really don’t care about anyone’s sexuality besides my own. It’s none of my business.”

 

Ned’s surprise must have shown on his face, because Darcy had followed up with, “Don’t look so surprised! It’s 2016, mate, guys like Wesley are in the minority.”

  
  


  _______________________________________________________________________________________________________

  


_Conor was right when he said that coming out brings out people’s true colors. Who would have thought that there are some actually decent people on the rugby team? They’re less like wild hippos, and more like very large dogs. They think in such simple terms, and after a while, you can’t help but find them endearing. Sure, they’ve never heard of intersectional feminism, but their impressionable hearts can be big._

  


  ______________________________________________________________________________________________________

  


Conor and Ned were in the usual positions on their respective beds in their room, when Ned looked up from his book and asked, “Have you talked to Darcy lately?”

 

Conor tore his eyes over from his chemistry book. “About what?”

 

“I found him screaming by the pool today. He said that he doesn’t want to keep playing rugby, but doesn’t want to quit the team, either.”

 

Conor nodded. “Victor said that it looks like he’s not having as much fun anymore. Screaming at the pool? Really?”

 

Ned laughed, “Yeah, it scared the shit out of me. He said that it’s too much on his body, but he’s worried he’ll be socially exiled if he quits.”

 

Conor thought for a moment. The team was definitely similar to a cult in the way it required unyielding dedication from its members. Darcy was good on the field, but it was becoming clear that his heart wasn’t completely in it. “I think the coach would be pissed off, but not at Darcy, really. He’d just be angry that someone would wanna leave the lifestyle. But he shouldn’t feel pressured to stay if he doesn’t want to; he’d still have his friends if he left.”

 

“That’s what I said! It got me wondering how many other students feel like they’ve got to do things they don’t want to. But I guess there can’t be too many social pariahs, otherwise we’d be too powerful.”

 

Conor rolled his eyes. “I suppose so.”

 

Ned discarded his forgotten book and layed down on his side to face Conor. “I never asked, what would _you_ do if you could be totally yourself?”

 

Conor smiled to himself; it had taken him long enough to ask. “I don’t think I’d be too different, probably just less stressed out. Maybe I’d go California to Janey, and meet her gay American friends. I’d legally renounce my parents for sure.”

 

“Really? And give up your trust fund?” Ned smirked.

 

“Yeah, really. My dad only considers me his son when I’m a straight guy who only cares about rugby, and if I could be anything, I’d be anything but. I’d try everything, and not care about what kinds of people should be doing what. I wanna live somewhere where there’s no judgement, where I don’t have to worry about our safety. I’d say how I’m feeling all the time, and I dunno, learn to play drums or something. I’d also never want to fight again. I really hate it when I have to, and I don’t want to have to beat the shit out of anyone anymore.”

 

Conor also thought that if he could live in this perfect world, he’d tell Ned everything he had ever felt for him.

  


   ______________________________________________________________________________________________________

  


_Ned’s eleven years old, sitting at his desk in the back of the classroom of his primary school. He’s struggling to see the long division on the whiteboard, and he can’t keep up with how fast the teacher’s talking. He just...can’t see the numbers. They don’t even look like numbers or letters, just something alien that his brain can’t understand. A boy sitting in front of him turns around to look at him._

 

_“She’s dead.” He says._

 

_“What?” Ned asks._

 

_A girl next to him looks at him. “She’s dead, she died.”_

 

_The teacher stops writing on the board and starts walking towards him. “She died. She’s dead.” Suddenly everyone’s looking at him, and Ned doesn’t know what’s going on._

 

_He’s six years old on the couch in his parent’s big house that they’d lived in forever. His mother is behind him, he’s sitting between her legs and he can feel her warmth behind him. She’s running her fingers through his brown hair, twirling it around with her fingers, and all of Ned’s fears wash away. He’s so happy to be in her arms._

 

_She’s speaking in a soft voice, “You’re such a handsome boy, Ned. You’re so special, I wish I could keep you like this forever.”_

 

_A feeling of such contentment fills him up, and he never wants this moment to end. He turns around to face her, to tell her that he loves her._

 

_But she’s gone. Her kindness is gone._

 

_She’s dead._

 

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________

   


Ned woke up with a start and a deep inhale in his dorm, blinking into the morning light. He’s sixteen, he’s in school, and his roommate is sleeping to his left. He felt like he was miles beneath the ocean, swimming in his old grief.

 

He was awake and she was gone. Lost to him in some faraway place she’d believed in. He could remember her eyes when she used to look at him, full of such affection and hope, and he sunk further knowing that he would never look her in the eyes again. It had been five years, but he would never stop missing her. He moved onto his stomach and clutched the pillow under him, willing this pain to subside, hoping he could lose it in the darkness.

 

Conor’s alarm went off into the silence, making him jump. He listened to Conor roll over in his bed and stretch, feeling grateful for the presence. He didn’t feel alone as he heard his roommate get out of bed and walk through the door to the hallway. Ned curled into himself, feeling as small as he had in his dream, and just as helpless. He couldn’t fathom going to class. He probably wouldn’t leave his bed, as whatever appetite he would of had vanished.

 

When Conor walked back into the room, a wave of dread washed over him and filled up his mind, and he was willing himself not to hyperventilate. He was seeing the faces of his childhood classmates behind his eyes, and it was making him panic for the first time in a long time. He couldn’t breathe and wanted to throw the covers off of him to relieve the weight of this anxiety pressing down on his body, but not wanting Conor to know he was in distress. But he just couldn’t help it, he almost felt sick and his heart was racing, he didn’t know what to do or where to go to escape this feeling.

 

He sat up in bed, kicking the blanket off of his body and moved to lean against the wall, gripping his pillow to his chest, not even seeing the room around him. Everything around him looked so fuzzy, all of it was much to process as it spun around him, and he just stared into nothingness, willing for the images in his mind to leave him. Why did she have to leave him alone like this?

 

As soon as Conor heard Ned struggling to breathe from across the room, he walked over to the door and closed it, sliding the metal lock into the wall. He strode over the few steps it took to kneel in front of Ned’s bed and looked him in the eyes, his own full of worry.

 

“Ned? Ned, what’s wrong?”

 

Ned closed his eyes and prayed for his breathing to steady when he heard Conor’s voice, but his lungs felt like they were shrinking, and the panic wouldn’t leave his heart.

 

Conor leaned forward, directly in front of him. “Ned, look at me.”

 

Ned willed his eyes open, and for a moment, it was like he couldn’t see anything at all. The corners of his vision were getting darker, but Conor was so close, and he just tried to stare at him and tried to focus on something, anything. Him.

 

“It’s okay, Ned. You’re okay.”

 

Ned didn’t say anything, and he couldn’t tell how long he looked into Conor’s eyes for, it felt like forever, but gradually, his breathing was beginning to slow, and his vision was clearing.

 

“Conor,” He breathed, “I’m sorry.” He realized that he was shaking.

 

Conor climbed onto his bed and sat next to him. “Nothin’ to be sorry for. What’s going on?”

 

Ned took comfort in feeling Conor’s presence; they were only a few inches apart. “I had a dream about my mum.”

 

Conor looked at him, his eyes full of sympathy. “Ned, I’m sorry.” He whispered.

 

Ned had never talked about his mother’s death to anyone before, but felt that if this wasn’t a safe place to do so, there never would be.

 

“I was in primary school when it happened. I got called into the office during the day and they told me to go home, but they didn’t say why. When I got there, there was an ambulance and the cops were at my house. She fell down the stairs, Conor. It happened after my dad left for work and I’d gone to school, so there was no one to help her. She died alone, at the bottom of the steps.” Tears were sliding freely down his face, and there was nothing he could do so stop them.

 

Conor gave him a look of such sadness before slipping his arms around Ned’s waist, resting his chin on his shoulder. Ned was so full of loss and grief, his heart bursting with all of these old feelings, that he didn’t have the space to be shocked by the sudden display of affection. He just leaned into his friend’s hold and let himself _feel_ for once.

 

“Not even my dad loved me as much as she did. She was the only person who told me that I was important, and I lost her cause she’d been alone. If I left later, or it happened on a different day or at a different time, she would’ve lived. I’d still have her in my life if it had been any different. I miss her so much.” The minutes slipped by, and the boys stayed where they were in the morning light. Ned was shaking less and less as time passed.

 

The tears dried, but Ned couldn’t find it in himself to stop. “I slept on the couch for a month cause I couldn’t go near the stairs, and my dad stopped talking. He hasn’t been the same since, and married Natalie a year later. I don’t think he was trying to replace her, I think he just lost himself. It was so sudden. I used to be angry that he was trying to forget her, and chose to marry someone who meant absolutely nothing, but he never sold the house, even though he hasn’t lived in it since she died. Natalie doesn’t want to live there, so they moved to Dubai. I still live in the house during the summer. I like it, it makes me feel closer to her.” He took a deep breath and leaned further into Conor’s touch, suddenly feeling so exhausted.

 

Conor couldn’t find a single thing to say, but nonetheless held Ned closer.

 

“I’m sorry I freaked out. I haven’t dreamt about her in such a long time, it felt like it happened yesterday.”

 

Conor hummed into his shoulder. “Don’t even worry about it. She sounded wonderful, I’m so sorry.”

 

The sounds of other boys waking up in their dorm could be heard through the halls. Ned never wanted to move from this spot. “I’m definitely not going to classes today, I’m going back to bed. You’re probably late for practice.”

 

Conor reluctantly pried himself off of Ned; he was right, but he was having a hard time caring.

 

“Well, come to practice later if you’re feeling up to it, okay? It’s been a few days, and Wally’s been askin’ about you.” This made Ned chuckle.

 

“I’ll see what I can do.”

 

Conor got changed into his shorts and hoodie, and two minutes later, Ned was left alone with his thoughts.

  


   ____________________________________________________________________________________________________

  


_After you died, I thought I’d never meet someone who would see me like you did. I felt so alone, and dad was nowhere to be found. You’d be so angry at him if you’d seen him. He just disappeared, and didn’t take me with him._

_Sorry I’m not Catholic anymore, I can’t remember the last time I went to Mass. I probably have hours of confessions saved up, but I’m only sorry for a few of em. I hope you’re happy wherever you ended up, and it looks exactly like you pictured. I don’t think I’ll go back, you know how they are with the whole ‘sodomy’ thing. I know you wouldn’t have cared though. You’re the only reason I believe in unconditional love._

 

_I wonder if God’s still watching over me. If he is, I’d ask him if he’s the one who threw Conor into my life. I’m starting to think that it’s a miracle I met him. You’d love him, he’s so polite and responsible. Except when he’s beating the shit out of teenage homophobes. He’s the first person after you to look out for me, and he’s so honest. I feel like there’s no bullshit with him, meeting him was like breathing in clean air for the first time._

_I’m falling for him, Mum. I can’t try to stop it anymore, he makes my life better all the time. He even got me to start hanging out with a few rugby players, if you can believe it. This morning after my dream, he held me just like you used to do when I was little. He wasn’t even spooked by his roommate having a panic attack at six in the morning. He’s always lookin’ at me with these big brown doe eyes too, it’s adorable._

 

_Anyway, I miss you. You wanted to give me everything, and I’d do anything to have you back in my life. I miss spending the summers with you, and I’m excited to come back to the house for winter break. It makes me feel so close to you. Who knows, maybe I’ll be able to bring Conor sometime._

 

_I love you, always._

  


_______________________________________________________________________________________________________

  


Ned didn’t go to practice after classes had ended, he wasn’t in the mood to hear anything louder than his music and watched the light move around through his room as the day passed by. He slept for another five hours, still imagining being wrapped in Conor’s embrace. He hadn’t felt like eating all day, and hoped he wouldn’t ask him about it. But after writing in his journal and thinking about all the turns his life had taken, he found himself jittery, needing something to do. Something to change, something that he had control of.

 

Moving on impulse, he put on an old t-shirt, grabbed his bag of hair dye, and left to dorm to the pool locker room.

 

The locker room was brutally cold, and Ned vaguely wondered how no one on the rugby team caught hypothermia during the winter. He unlocked the heavy door with the key that he swiped from Gerard’s keychain during the salt incident. He knew that he wouldn’t be missing it for a while, and revelled in the knowledge that for now, he was the only person who would be unlocking the door until summer.

 

He set up his ipod against the mirror above one of the large sinks and got to work, mumbling along with the music as he coated his hair in the creamy bleach he’d brought from home. It was so fucking cold, but in a strange way, it felt good to stare at himself in the mirror for a while and make a physical change to his appearance. He loved dying his hair, it was visual evidence of change and the passage of time. He wished that he was allowed to dye his hair anything other than ‘natural’ colors. He’d inherited his mother’s deep brown hair and blue eyes, and before had wondered if his dad stopped talking to him because they looked so much alike.

 

Ned put on a sweatshirt and sat down against a cold wall while he waited for the bleach to strip his hair of color.

  


   _______________________________________________________________________________________________________

  


_For the first time, I think I’m actually starting to be okay with life. I have friends, a best friend, and society hasn’t collapsed since coming back. I’m actually doing things in my day to day life instead of just spending it alone._

_I’m so grateful for Conor, I can’t say it enough. We care about each other, and I don’t even know what that means. All the bullshit of the world just disappears when we’re together, and I never want it to end. I just wanna to lock the door behind us, and hold onto him until the sun comes up._

 

_When I imagine life outside of this place, I think of him._

  


   _______________________________________________________________________________________________________


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Squad time, mostly

_ Dear Conor, _

 

_ You’re right, Weasel does sound like a shithead. With guys like him around, I want you to be safe, first of all, okay? People with that much anger for other people can be super dangerous. _

_ You’re in a tough spot, and I’m sorry about that.  _

 

_ But falling in love when you’re young (not saying anything about the L word, though) is so important! You learn so much when you explore your feelings for other people. When it comes to Ned, I think you should ask yourself what you would want to happen after you tell him. What would you want to change, or would things really change much at all? It sounds like he’d be fine with your feelings whether he feels the same way or not, so you shouldn’t worry too much about it.  _

 

_ I’m so glad you have a team that supports you and you can keep doing what you love! Keep me posted with how things are going, I’m living for the drama. Maybe you could spend winter break down here with me! _

 

_ Happy teen romance, _

 

_ Janey _

  
  


_________________________________________________________________________________________________

  
  


_ I’m watching practice today, and now that I’ve actually taken the time to look at anyone other than Conor, I think I can see what Darcy’s talking about. I know what Conor and the rest of them look like during practice, they’re hyper focused, completely immersed, and how they pull that off day after day is beyond me. But Darcy doesn’t seem as...enthusiastic. And he’s breathing harder than the others whenever they stop moving. He really should quit, just looking at him makes me tired. And maybe we could start going to games together, that’d be fun.  _

 

_ Looking back at Conor, however, is starting to give me energy, I think he’s contagious. It gives me a stupid sense of pride when I’m reminded that my best friend is the MVP, even though I still really don’t care about the game, or who can run the fastest or jump the highest. Still, it’s obvious that the team has started to look to him to set the stage during practice. I’d say there’s no doubt that he’ll be team captain next year, but Gerard might still be hung up on the gay thing. I feel like everyone’s gotten over it though, at least our friends have.  _

 

_ I’m really gonna have to cut Conor’s hair. It’s so in his way when he plays, even though I like seeing him push it out of his face. He’d look good with a clean cut, though. I can’t stop thinking about how fucking good looking he his lately. He’s not that much taller than me, but he still has this large presence, quietly filling up the room. He’s burly in a way where he could push me up against a wall and I certainly wouldn’t mind. Whoops.  _

_ On Sunday he started doing sit ups on the floor with his shirt off, and I feel that I have a right to be upset. How am I supposed to read about the impending fall of capitalism when his abs are demanding my attention? I’m starting to wonder if he does it just to fuck with me. Then he looks at me with those brown eyes like he ~knows.~ Anyways, I’m gay.  _

 

_ It’s so fucking cold outside now, Ireland has stripped away the remaining warmth and sunlight of the year. The winter may be approaching, but I’m determined to uphold my aesthetic, no matter the season. Denim jackets just look so good on their own, I can’t hinder it by putting on a coat, even at the risk of my excellent health.  _

 

_ Besides, the days don’t seem so cold with him around. _

  
  


______________________________________________________________________________________________

  
  


“It’s too fucking cold to be sitting outside at night like this. Are you  _ trying _ to get me sick?”

 

The boys were sitting in the bleachers on a chilly Wednesday night after dinner, and Darcy was burrowing himself in his layers, looking at the group with disdain. Wally had dragged them all out of their rooms with a duffel full of whiskey and crisps stolen from the kitchen.

 

“If you keep drinking, you’ll warm up, you sod.” Wally handed over the bottle, his cheeks already rosy in the cold. 

 

Darcy narrowed his eyes at him, but grabbed the bottle from the other boy’s hands anyway. He took a long swig and did his best not to gag. “Guys, what would you think if I quit the team?”

 

Wally was the only one that showed any surprise. “What? How come?”

 

Darcy sighed. “It’s just wearing me out, mate. I can’t get any work done after practices, and I’m starting to fail my classes. And no matter how many warm ups Coach makes us do, my body’s killin’ me all the time.”

 

“Well, I’ll be disappointed. Now I’ll  _ really _ be the worst on the team.” Wally sniggered.

 

“How would  _ you _ know, Wallace? You’re on the bench all the time anyway.” Victor whacked Wally’s shoulder with his fist. “Dealing with Pascal, or Gerard, as Ned calls him, takes a force of will that even I don’t have. It’s hard on everyone to keep up with him. Conor’s the exception, though.”

 

Conor rolled his eyes and took the whiskey when it came around to him. “You should quit if you don’t enjoy it anymore, Darcy. It’s not like we won’t keep hanging out.”

 

Darcy smiled. “Yeah, I’m only a second year, and I want to wait a while before selling my soul to someone like Pascal. And Ned, why the hell do you call him Gerard?”

 

Ned shrugged, refusing the bottle when it was passed to him. “Pascal is the name of someone who’s educated and trustworthy. It just doesn’t suit him. But Gerard is a character who’s obsessed and possessed with an unhealthy God complex. That sounds more like him to me.”

 

Victor burst into laughter. “You’re definitely not wrong! I swear, I don’t wanna know what that man is trying to compensate for.”

 

“Listen, I love rugby as much as the next guy, but it’s so obvious that it’s the only thing he’s got left. Both he and Walter are just trying too hard to hold onto their glory days.” Darcy quipped, his face growing warmer. 

 

Ned couldn’t agree more. “Is it  _ really _ true that his wife left him ‘cause he’s in a codependent relationship with rugby?”

 

Victor shrugged. “Who knows? But that kind of midlife crisis is definitely cause for divorce as far as I’m concerned. Anyways, is anyone else drunk?” 

 

Wally sank further into the space between the benches. “Nope, I’m on my way, mate.”

 

Darcy sighed. “You guys are so pathetic. I’m only going to practice in the morning to see you do laps with a hangover.”

 

Wally ignored him. “Also, can we talk about Ned’s hair? You look like Justin Timberlake, mate.”

 

Ned raised his eyebrows at the sudden attack. “I’ll take that as a compliment, thank you very much.”

 

Victor grinned. “You’re the first person I’ve ever met to dye his hair at school. Conor, what do you think about your friend’s new look?”

 

Conor was surprised to be called out so suddenly, and he looked Ned. “I was wondering if you were gonna dye it again. And not gonna lie, Justin Timberlake’s pretty hot.”

 

Victor gave him a look of such knowledge, that Conor wondered if he somehow confessed his truth in front of all of them by mistake. 

 

Darcy let out a laugh. “True, but Brittney could’ve done better.” 

  
  


_______________________________________________________________________________________________

  
  


_ I wish I could tell you how I feel. I wish I could tell you that I want to be closer to you all the time, and I’m always wondering what you’re up to when we’re not together. I wanna do dumb shit that’s so cheesy, like hold your hand when we’re hanging out with the others, and climb on your bed while you’re doing your homework.  _

 

_ I have a suspicion that you feel the same way, but what would even happen if I told you? Would we be ‘together,’ but in secret? At least I don’t feel so alone since hanging out with you and the rest of the puppies; the days are really starting to fly by.  _

 

_ I have no clue what I want to happen, or what’s going to happen, but I hope God lets me have you for a while longer. _

  
  


_____________________________________________________________________________________________

  
  


Victor and Conor were walking back to school after practice, leaving Wally alone with Pascal, who had kept him after practice. Darcy quit the team after practice that morning, and the coach immediately ganged up on Wally, deciding that he would be the one to fill his place. 

 

Victor groaned. “That’s the last time I get that drunk less than twelve hours before practice again. My head is  _ killing _ me.”

 

“Serves you right for letting Wally peer pressure you into doing shots out of empty water bottles. I’ll give him ten quid if he doesn’t pass out working with Pascal tonight.”

 

“Damn, I’d stay to watch if I wasn’t dying to go to bed. We’re gonna have to convince Ned and Darcy to get properly wasted one of these days, I need blackmail material after getting so much shit from the both of them.” Conor could already see the mischief taking shape in his friend’s eyes.

 

“Good luck, I think Ned’s immune to peer pressure.” Conor lifted the hood of his jacket, he still hadn’t gotten used to the cold. 

 

Victor looked over at him before looking around to make sure no one was in earshot. “Speaking of dear Edwin...is he your boyfriend  _ now? _ ”

 

Conor let out one of his biggest sighs yet. “Nope.”

 

“But you definitely like him, right?”

 

Conor stopped in his tracks and gave Victor a look of sheer incredulity. “You are so nosy.”

 

Victor laughed, “What? I’m observant, and I pride myself on being in the know at all times! And you’re my friends, so I reserve the right to be invested.”

 

They started walking again and Conor lowered his voice and looked away. “Is it that obvious?”

 

Victor looked at him with a kind smile. “It is to me, but I’m nothing if not up to date. I see the heart eyes that you’re always givin’ him, and when he talks, you look at him like he’s the smartest person in the room.”

 

Conor couldn’t help but feel embarrassed, and Victor continued, “But don’t worry about it mate, I’m sure the others are too oblivious to notice. And you know that you shouldn’t feel like you have to hide anything, all of us have got a good thing goin’, even if they have noticed.”

 

He felt a little better about that. He was loving the time they had all started to spend together, and felt comforted knowing that he had met people who really accepted him as a friend, and not just as a guy on their team.

 

“Besides, I’ve also noticed that he looks at you the exact same way during practice. He’s probably more obvious than you, as a matter of fact.” He said with some of his trademark omniscience.

 

Conor willed himself not to blush and decided to move the conversation forward. He didn’t want to get too wrapped up in thoughts of what Ned felt about him. “You’ve started hanging out with Weasel less since the salt thing.”

 

Victor put his hands in his pockets and looked at the setting sun. “Yeah, now that I have some decent friends, I guess I don’t have to. Still, though, I’ve got my eye on him.”

 

“You’ve apparently got eyes everywhere, Victor.”

 

Victor gave him a smug look and said with a touch of drama, “I try. Seriously though, we all love Ned. I feel bad that no one ever bothered to give him the time of day before you showed up. He really wasn’t on anyone’s radar. I’m glad he’s around, he’s really cool.”

 

Conor’s heart filled with appreciation for his new friends, and suddenly it wasn’t so cold as they approached the dorms. “Yeah, he is.”

  
  


__________________________________________________________________________________________________

  
  


_ Darcy and I made a bet during chemistry on how many times Wally gets alcohol poisoning before the term ends. He bets fifty that it’ll happen at least twice before June, and three times if he finds a way to stash more alcohol. I chose to remain optimistic, and bet that we’ll only have to perform CPR once until end of year exams. If I win, he has to do all my chemistry homework next year. _

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a short one, but I wanted to expand on the boy's dynamic, because their friend group is DEFINITELY gonna be a thing. Things will get rolling in the next chapter though!
> 
> Also I imagine that Darcy looks like a more buff Conan Gray, but I really don't know why.
> 
> Comments make my day :)


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some shit goes down! Lots of laughter and lots of angst!

Even when Conor had friends at his last school, they never accepted him for who he was; because they didn’t get the chance. He tried so hard to run away from any kind of conflict, that he pushed everyone away, and began fighting anyone who brought up the rumors. He hadn’t even considered the thought that maybe some of his friends wouldn’t care about what they heard or who he was. 

 

Then, when he came to Woodhill, he met Ned, who changed everything. He decided to stop running because he had met someone who didn’t feel like he had to fight who he was, and this shattered all of his expectations. He just...gave in. He gave in to his new life, gave in to what made him who he was, gave into Ned. Now, he had given in to his feelings for him.

 

If anyone asked him, he probably wouldn’t be able to describe how grateful he was to his friends with words. Not only had they all become a source of joy over the past few weeks, they had openly expressed that they didn’t care about what the world would say about a gay rugby player. They chose to see past what made him different, and had accepted him and Ned into their lives. He would be grateful for this forever. And it helped him feel more confident in one day telling Ned how he feels, that if everything went exactly how he wanted it to, they would have people on their side.

 

Conor thought long and hard about his sister’s words. What did he want to happen between him and his best friend after admitting his feelings? Honestly, he wanted exactly what he already had. Someone who understood him and all his complexities, and appreciated every one of them. But truthfully, he was having difficulty balancing their friendship with these new desires.

 

He had no idea what love looked like; he and Janey were sure that their parents had married for money, and throughout his childhood showed very little affection for each other. What did two people in love even look like? He had no idea, but his confidence in his feelings was growing. He didn’t know, but wanted to find out firsthand. Maybe they could figure it out together, if all went well. Janey was right, even if Ned didn’t feel the same way, it likely wouldn’t change anything in their dynamic. Ned surely wasn’t going to reject Conor as a friend after all they had been through.

 

He just wanted to be closer to Ned, and feel the relief of being completely honest. He wanted to know everything about him, and learn what intimacy with this wonderful boy would feel like. When he’d walked into their room in the early hours of the morning to find Ned having a panic attack, the way he held onto him while he listened to his past was something that he wanted to do over and over again. The school, the rugby team, the world had melted away, and he’d wanted to hold onto Ned all day. Eventually, he wanted to be  _ with _ Ned. Physically, emotionally, and throughout each and every day, they would have each other. 

 

Conor held these feelings close to his chest, and with every day they grew stronger. 

  
  


________________________________________________________________________________________________

  
  


_ You were talking in your sleep again last night. It’s adorable, the way you fidget around and mumble so softly. You were saying something about crisps, I think. Wally really did bring too many the other night, I feel like I’ve been sweating out the salt.  _

 

_ Most of the time it’s cute, but sometimes I have to tell you to shut up, and you usually do. Some days I feel like you talk more in your sleep then you do when you’re awake, and I wonder what secrets you’re keeping.  _

 

_ I can’t imagine the things I’d tell you in my sleep. _

  
  


________________________________________________________________________________________________

  
  


After Saturday’s practice, the rugby team had been eager to run off the field and into their showers to savor the hours left until Monday. The air had been as normal as any other day, and just like any other day, Weasel had plenty of shit to say. 

 

“I can’t believe that sissy Lynch quit the team. ‘Bout time though, it was obvious that he was too weak to keep up with the rest of us.” He was talking loudly to Josh next to him, but with such volume that it was clear he wanted to make an announcement. “Anyone else here gonna pussy out and leave us?”

 

Victor sighed, looking at the wall facing a showerhead. “Shut up, Wesley, no one wants to hear it.”

 

Weasel looked over to him, evidently ready for a challenge. “Well, Victor, since you’ve taken up to hangin’ out with queers lately, maybe Darcy’s a fag too! Whatdaya’ say Conor, are you next?”

 

Wally spoke up from his spot. “Are you really about to start a fight while butt naked? Cause I’d love to see ya’ try.” A few of the boys laughed around the locker room at his words. 

 

Unfortunately, this seemed to rile up Weasel even more. “You too, Wally? Faggotry must be contagious, maybe  _ I _ should quit before I catch it.”

 

Conor had just about had enough. “Maybe you should shut the fuck up, Wesley.”

 

The room fell silent, his comeback echoing off of the tile walls. Weasel finally left his spot and slowly walked up to Conor until their faces were merely inches apart. His eyes were full to the brim of malice and hatred. “You’d better watch your mouth, Masters. Or it’ll be your boyfriend’s nose I break next.”

 

Conor remained undeterred, his eyes staring directly into Weasel’s. “Like Wally said, I’d like to see you try.”

 

Victor had obviously sensed that the tension was reaching critical levels, and he appeared at their sides. “Might I remind everyone here that we’re all completely naked, and it’s getting embarrassing. Wesley, I suggest you step off before you get so angry that you pop a boner.”

 

The pressure had broken, and Weasel walked away and grabbed a towel as the small room rang out with laughter. 

  
  


___________________________________________________________________________________________________

  
  


_ Could I be any gayer? I just listened to Purple Rain on repeat for like, forty-five minutes. Prince was gay, and no one on this earth can convince me otherwise. _

  
  


___________________________________________________________________________________________________

  
  


Okay, maybe Ned would submit to the freezing temperatures of mid-November and buy himself a coat. But it would one of those cool ones with a fur hood that K-pop artists wear in their music videos. He also knew he could make a beanie look chic and not pretentious.

 

Regardless, that Saturday he found himself once again in the frigid night air with who he liked to call the puppies, sitting over the edge of the empty concrete pool and listening to more of their bullshit. Soon the bottle of whiskey would be empty, and they’d all eventually have to submit to sobriety. “It’s a Saturday!” Wally had said as though that was reason enough to do anything, including dragging Ned’s reluctant ass outside in the middle of what was a very important journal entry.

 

“Wally, you’re just looking for excuses to get sloshed, I fear you’re bordering on alcoholism.”

 

Wally was sitting on the other end, drinking out of one of the bottles they’d split up among themselves. “Please just drink for  _ once _ , Ned. I promise it won’t kill you.” 

 

Ned shook his head. “But life is already so intoxicating with you all, and I wouldn’t want to forget any stupid shit you achieve to get yourselves into for future reference.”

 

Darcy spoke from his spot leaning against the wall in the deep end. “Besides, we like making fun of you poor sods when you’re hungover in the morning. Wally, how many times have you thrown up during practice since I left?”

 

Wally took offence and looked between of the two of the indignantly. “Why are you two attacking me tonight? Conor always drinks with us, why don’t you nag him?”

 

Conor shrugged, sitting down next to Ned. “I deserve it after that history test yesterday.”

 

Wally stood up and threw his hands into the air after taking a long swig. “You’re damn right! That shit was murder, I couldn’t remember a damn thing.” He gestured to Ned and continued, “I also have to drink to forget that Ned surpasses me in geometry in every way.”

 

Ned pouted at him and said with sarcastic sympathy, “Don’t worry, Wallace, I’m so proud of you for getting through primary school.”

 

Conor burst into the most genuine laughter, unable to restrain himself, and throwing his head back and howling into the night.

 

Rolling his eyes dramatically, Darcy rounded on Victor who was slumped on the ground next to him, swirling the alcohol around in his own bottle. “And Victor, what’s  _ your _ excuse for getting hammered every other day?”

 

Victor must have been the poster boy for teenage rebellion in that moment, with his neck against the wall, a clear plastic water bottle half full with whiskey in one hand, and a cigarette Ned had rolled him in the other. “Only God can judge me.” He said before taking a drag. 

 

Darcy looked like an exasperated mother of toddlers. “Ned you’re such a bad influence, getting these athletes addicted to nicotine.” 

 

The boy in question nodded reproachfully. “You’re right, you guys are depleting the only source of relief I have after chemistry.”

 

Wally spoke up in earnest, still walking around the edge of the pool. “JT, how could you leave me out like that? I’m a literal ray of sunshine, and we have geometry right after!”

 

Ned almost choked on his own rollie, firing up immediately. “If you reference Justin Timberlake to me one more time, I’m throwing your mattress in the river.”

 

Wally let out such a cackle that he stumbled around the concrete in his mirth. His ridiculousness was such a sight to see that Ned was almost embarrassed for him.

 

At the peak of his laughter, he slipped and fell flat on his back down onto the hard cement of the pool. 

 

There was a deafening slam that echoed around the area, and a split second passed before Darcy reacted first. “Oh my God!” He gasped in horror as he ran over to their friend, who was struggling to let air back into his lungs after impact. Conor was jumping swiftly down the ladder and Victor had pulled himself off the ground to rush drunkenly to his aid. 

 

“Woah, Wally! Are you okay, man?” Darcy asked, kneeling over him and helping him sit up.

 

It took him a minute to gather his thoughts, but after shaking his head and inhaling a few deep breaths, he finally said, “Yeah. Yeah, I’m good, guys. I really just have to pee.” 

 

Conor let out a breath of relief and sat down on the ground, recovering from the sudden scare that his tipsy brain was still trying to process. 

 

Victor twisted the lid of his water bottle back on and let out a laugh just to relieve his own tension. “Jesus Christ, Wally, don’t scare me like that again.” 

 

“Yeah, we’ll definitely have to put heights on the list of things to keep you away from.” Darcy said, running a hand through his hair.

 

Conor was abruptly aware of the lack of a fifth voice, and looked up from the bottom of the swimming pool to the top, and Ned was nowhere in sight. He got up from his spot and jumped up to grab the ladder and pull himself up. “Ned, you still up there?”

 

He reached the top and looked around the area, but Ned was gone.

  
  


_________________________________________________________________________________________________

  
  


_ I’m not a fearful person, but there’s always that low level paranoia that comes with being gay in a school full of repressed teenage boys. So there’s a kind of fear that I’ve grown used to. _

 

_ But there’s this new kind of fear that I’m learning about. The kind I felt when I looked at Conor the night of the team’s fire, or when I saw him covered in blood after the last match. It came back to me in such a rush, this new fear. When Wally fell in the pool. _

 

_ That was truly terrifying. _

  
  


__________________________________________________________________________________________________

  
  


“Guys, I’m gonna go look for Ned. I’ll catch up with you later. I’m glad you’re okay, Wally.”

 

He walked away from the group and before leaving, he thought he might check the pool locker room, but knowing Ned, that would have been too close to the rest of them. He walked out into the darkened grounds, and deduced where Ned would go after seeing something so horrifying.

 

It had only taken a moment to figure out why Ned would leave after Wally fell. 

 

Based on where the pool was, the closest place to recover would be the rugby locker room. It was getting late, and he knew that Ned wouldn’t want to go back to the dorms. He raced over to the field and when he reached the doors, he opened them slowly and called out. He walked into the room, and registered that it was dimly lit before hearing Ned’s heavy breathing.

 

Conor walked slowly around the corner of the lockers and found Ned pacing back and forth, cigarette in hand, running his hands through his bleached hair and hyperventilating. It looked like he barely registered Conor walking in the room, and he kept his eyes on the floor before slamming his back against the lockers on the other side, and put his hand over his face. 

 

Conor strode over to him on instinct and stood right in front of him. He was very unfortunately still feeling the effects of the alcohol, but his focus was on Ned, and Ned only. “Ned, look at me. I’m right here.” He took the other boy’s pale face in his hands, and prodded his gaze upwards. 

 

“I’m here.” Slowly but surely, the longer he looked into Ned’s eyes, his breathing began to slow, though still shuddering. He was beginning to shake, not looking away from Conor, but to his surprise, whispered, 

 

“I can’t...I can’t do this anymore.”

 

He pulled himself away from Conor and resumed pacing, however slower this time, and worked to maintain even, steady breaths. Conor was confused, but didn’t try to approach him again.

 

“Conor, everything is just so fragile, life can change or end in an instant and I feel like I’m just there to watch everything happen. There’s nothing I can do to change it and nothing ever happens like it should and people can just get taken away like that, and I just don’t  _ understand _ why things are the way they are! Why do I just stand by and let things happen to me and be silent all the time, when she’s  _ gone _ and I want to live for her and just say it. He fell, and he could be so hurt and we all had to see it and hear it and it’s so fucked up! It’s fucked up how my life changed so suddenly and I’m actually enjoying life and enjoying my friends and enjoying  _ you _ and everything is so perfect but all of that can change without warning.”

 

His breath was speeding up, but his voice had lowered and he spoke slowly, as though his mind could hardly take any more of these truths . “I fucked it up. But you’ve been so perfect to me. And life is too fucking short to not tell you how I feel about you!”

 

His words rang out in the empty room. Ned was looking at Conor with wide eyes, completely vulnerable and without shame. Conor stared at him, stared at the boy who changed everything for the better. 

 

“Fuck, you’re right.”

 

Conor strode over to Ned, put one hand on the back of his neck and the other in his hair, and kissed him. He let go of every insecurity and fear that he’d ever had as he held Ned close and pressed their mouths together, trying to tell him everything he had ever wanted to say.

 

After a heart-wrenching moment, Ned’s breathing slowed within a second, and he his wrapped his arms around the taller boy’s waist and kissed him back with what felt like everything he had. He held him so tightly that Conor felt like he was going to explode with this passion, and pulled away after what could have been forever or just a second, wanting to look into Ned’s eyes and make sure that this was real. 

 

“Jesus, Ned.”

 

He just looked at Conor and breathed out a soft laugh, a small smile spreading across his face. Still shaking, he pulled Conor in again, and kissed him once more, his mouth moving against his own as elation made a home in his heart. His mouth tasted like smoke, and his own probably tasted like whiskey, but there wasn’t a thing in this world that he cared about other than kissing the boy that was holding him so close.

  
  


_____________________________________________________________________________________________________  
  


_ I can finally, finally, say this. And we were roommates. _

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I deadass had an anxiety attack while writing this last night. Leave a comment if you're as fucked up about it as I am!


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys recover from their hangovers, Victor wants the tea, and Conor and Ned talk about where to go from here.

_ I woke up this morning with knots in my heart and butterflies in my stomach. It’s the first time I’ve woken up before him, and my mind’s been spinning ever since I opened my eyes. I hope he doesn’t worry that I left, I just need to be outside for a while.  _

 

_ I still can barely believe that any of that shit happened, am I sure that it wasn’t a dream? Am I going to find that it’s still Saturday, and we haven’t even gone to the pool yet? I feel bad about leaving before even making sure that Wally was okay. Conor told me that he’s fine, he fell near the shallow end and didn’t hit his head.  _

_ I don’t even remember what I said in the locker room, it’s the first time that I’ve ever been in there, and I barely remember how I got there. As far as I’m concerned, I just teleported there with the sheer power of my panic attack. The first time being in the rugby locker room was also my first kiss, and I hate myself for being so cheesy about it.  _

 

_ I also hardly remember going back to the dorm with Conor, but I definitely remember making out on his bed when we got there. I’ll officially be brain dead when I forget about that. I was so caught up in the adrenaline of apparently confessing to him, and I really didn’t want to stop kissing him. _

 

_ I kissed Conor Masters. I kissed the star of the rugby team, too. And I still don’t want to stop. _

 

_What does this make us now? I don’t wanna say that we’re ‘dating’ or anything, because we haven’t even gotten the chance to talk about it. But oh my fucking GOD if things get any more exciting than that I’m gonna have an aneurysm. His lips are so damn soft, and I felt kinda bad that I bite mine all the time. My body felt like it was moving on its own and there wasn’t anything I could do about it. We started kissing, and then suddenly I leaned in and he fell back on the bed and I was_ _on top of him._ _That felt like a fever dream. I remember how his chest felt underneath me, and I could feel his heart beating. It was so quiet in the room, but kissing him like that felt louder than if someone was screaming at me. Either one of us could be terrible at it, but we wouldn’t know it. I love that, and I want to keep learning with him._

 

_ But here’s the thing, can we really keep this a secret? Will I have a secret boyfriend? I wonder if he’ll tell the others what happened. I wonder if I’ll tell them what happened. I feel like we’ll have to if we keep doing it.  _

_ And if we get ‘together,’ what else will we do? What else will change? It’s so weird, waking up and looking at him on the other side of the room and thinking, ‘We made out last night.’ But there’s no way things will be any different in that regard.  _

 

_ I know I’m trying to plan and think logically about all this shit, and I should just have fun feeling this way while I can. I don’t remember much about last night between Wally’s fall and kissing Conor, but I do remember really getting it through my head that not all of us have time to waste on second guessing everything like this. _

 

_ I want to be with you, Conor. Whatever we have to figure out. _

  
  


______________________________________________________________________________

  
  


After Conor had woken up to see that his roommate’s bed was empty, his mind was spinning with so many thoughts that there was nothing to do but go outside, and run as fast as he could. He knew what Ned said and what he felt and what they did, so he was trying not to feel anxious about his absence. Maybe things got a little too heated when they got back, but there had been no doubt or hesitation in his eyes when he admitted that it was long past time to go to sleep. All Conor wanted to do as they fell asleep was climb into the other boy’s bed and hold him until the sun came up, but knew that there would be time.

 

He felt like they had all the time in the world. They were both so new to all of this, attention, affection, makeout sessions. They could take it as slow as they wanted, and now there was nothing to stop them. He was dying to know what Ned was feeling after eight hours of sleep. And he prayed to whatever was out there that he hadn’t changed his mind. 

  
  


After deciding that he would let Ned come to him at whatever time that day, he slowed to a walk and made his way up to the school for breakfast. Luckily he wasn’t feeling the affects of last night’s alcoholic escapades too much, and his appetite was demanding his attention.

 

Once Conor walked into the dining hall and received a satisfying amount of Sunday’s breakfast and coffee, he trekked up to the second floor, where their friend’s usually sat next to the railing. Sure enough there they were, and it was extremely clear that two out of the three of them had been through a spectacle.

 

Wally, Victor, and Darcy were seated around the circular table, Wally with his head flat on the surface, and Darcy next to him with a mixture of pity and exasperation. Victor was leaning on his elbows with his chin in one hand, eyes closed against the fluorescent lights.

 

Conor walked over to them with a grin. “So, how are we feeling?”

 

Victor’s eyebrows furrowed and Wally groaned. Darcy replied for them, “They’d be a lot better if they’d listen to me and drink some water.”

 

Wally turned his head with great effort and said, “I’m just gonna throw it back up, Darce.”

 

Darcy rolled his eyes over to Conor, who’d seated himself across the table. “I’ve been taking care of Wallace since six o’clock this morning. I’d say he owes me, but there’s never been anything of value for him to give. I’ve formally declared my resentment for him after having to witness someone vomit that much.”

 

Wally hummed, apparently sensing some kind of hidden affection. “I wish all bullies were as nice as you.”

 

Victor uncharacteristically hadn’t said a thing, and Conor knew that meant he was feeling the affects no less than his companion. However, when he finally opened his eyes to acknowledge his presence, they widened.

 

“What happened with Ned?” He asked at once, taking a long sip from his own coffee.

 

Conor almost choked on his toast. “What do you mean? Nothing happened.” He really was trying to look casual.

 

Victor laughed, his impossible knowledge overpowering his hangover. “It’s written all over your fucking face!”

 

Darcy perked up, looking between the two of them. “What? I’m surprised your hyper awareness of other people’s business hasn’t taken a break this morning, Victor.”

 

Conor didn’t expect to feel so on the spot all of a sudden. He took a bite of eggs and said nonchalantly, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

 

Victor didn’t have a chance to explain himself, for Ned had come around the corner and sat down next to Conor, completely unbeknownst to the conversation he walked in on. As soon as he entered their field of vision however, Victor’s mouth fell open and his eyes widened in understanding, as though Ned had appeared to tell him that they were announcing their engagement. He looked at Ned, and then looked at Conor, knowledge washing over him.

 

Ned hadn’t noticed anything unusual as he poured powdered creamer into his coffee and looked at Wally. “Morning. Sorry I dipped out on you all last night. How you doing, Wally?”

 

Wally, also oblivious to anything groundbreaking happening around him, put his head up at last and said, “It’s all good, mate. My back’s gonna be fucked up for a  _ while _ , but I’m under the tender love and care of my guardian angel.” He jerked a thumb over at Darcy.

 

“How sweet, Wallace, but my time as your guardian angel has expired. I’ll be sending you the bill by post.” He answered with sarcasm in his voice, but inched a glass of water towards him nonetheless. 

 

Conor, hoping that his interrogation had ended for the time being, looked back at Victor to find him staring at him with narrowed eyes. He  _ knew. _

  
  


______________________________________________________________________________

  
  


_ Never in my life have I felt so lucky. I’m still a rich white kid with plans to steal his father’s money, and there are so many less fortunate, so God, maybe you could spend some of this goodness on those who need it too.  _

 

_ But in the meantime, thanks for giving me a fucking break. _

  
  


______________________________________________________________________________

  
  


Not too long into their morning meal, Wally and Victor excused themselves to crawl back into their rooms and sleep until morning practice, and Darcy left not too long after that, saying something about doing Friday’s homework in the library. 

 

Ned and Conor were alone, and the former turned to him and said in a quiet voice, “Wanna go for a walk?”

 

Conor nodded and let Ned lead the way out of the main building and into the dense woods that surrounded the campus. When they reached edge of the trees, Ned walked down one of the paths in front of them. Conor wasn’t as familiar with the school grounds as his friend; he doubted anyone was. 

 

Ned walked on with Conor beside him. “I feel bad for leaving the group after Wally fell. That was disastrous, I think I’m gonna tell him why that fucked me up so much.”

 

“I don’t really know if you need to, he’s not mad or anything.”

 

Ned shrugged. “Yeah, but I feel like it’d be the right thing to do. It feels right to tell the boys what’s going on, I trust ‘em and I want them to trust me.” He smiled, it must have felt so nice to have friends that he wanted to be honest with, even when it wasn’t necessary.

 

Conor looked down at him with his hands in his pockets as they tread slowly among the trees. “Is that why you never drink, ‘cause of shit like that?”

 

“No, I just hate liquor. If we were a classy friend group and drank wine or imported beer instead of sharing a bottle of cheap whiskey, it might be a different story.” He replied as they approached the river Ned must have been talking about when he threatened to throw Wally’s mattress into it. 

 

They had apparently reached a distance from the school that Ned felt comfortable with, because after taking a look around the area, he stopped his pace and turned to face Conor. 

 

“I like you, though.” He said quietly, his face growing pink, but he looked at Conor without embarrassment. 

 

Conor laughed softly. “I was wondering about that.” 

 

The blonde looked down at the ground before saying, “Sorry for leaving this morning.”

 

“It’s okay. I knew that you probably needed to think about things. Sorry if things got too...heavy last night.” Now it was his turn to blush.

 

Ned gazed back up at him with the same look he had when he pulled him back in the locker room the night before. “I’m definitely not sorry about that.”

 

The taller of the two grinned and took his hands in both of his own between them, and lightly pressed their foreheads together. “I like you too, by the way.” He didn’t even have it in him to feel awkward about how sappy it all was. 

 

Ned smirked and said, “I had a feeling.”

 

Conor straightened up and sighed into the woods, but he couldn’t stop himself from feeling elated all the same. “So obvious.”

 

“Don’t worry about it. That’s what I like about you so much, you’re always being honest.” He looked at their hands and added in a more serious tone, “Conor, are you cool with keeping this a secret? I know you’re good on the team and all, but I also know that that’s rocky on the best of days. If everyone knew that we were a thing, I think the school would burst into flames. I already feel like we’re on the edge of something terrible happening because we’re gay and we’re roommates, and I don’t even know what would happen if we came out even more than before. We wouldn’t be able to tell anyone, except our friends, I hope.”

 

Conor surprised himself and laughed. “I’m positive Victor already figured it out somehow.”  He saw the anxiety in Ned’s eyes though, and added, “But I know what you’re saying. Things can get really tense around here. But Ned, I want this. So much. I don’t know how to do  _ any _ of this, but I want to figure it out with you. Life really is too short to try to hide how I feel about you and how right this feels, and I don’t want any of that shit out there to stop me. We’ll find a way to navigate it, and I  _ promise, _ I’ll do everything I can to keep us out of trouble. And I know that Victor, Wally and Darcy have our backs.” He inched closer to Ned’s face, and said in a low voice that was almost drowned out by the running water, “And you’re so worth it. One day we won’t have to hide anymore.”

 

Ned gave him a smile that made him feel like he was going to start floating off the ground. He glanced around them once more before placing a soft kiss on the other’s lips. When they parted, Conor pulled him into a tight hug and nuzzled into his hair like it was the most natural thing in the world.

  
  


______________________________________________________________________________

  
  


_ God, Conor, this feels so fucking right. For the first time in forever, I feel like I’m doing the right thing, like I belong somewhere. I don’t have a clue what’s in the future, but I’m more present in this moment than I’ve ever been in my life. For the first time, I’m right here. I’m not trying to pretend that I’m somewhere else, because when I’m in your arms, I’m right where I need to be. _

  
  


______________________________________________________________________________

  
  


Victor really kept to his word about sleeping until Monday morning, because he was nowhere to be found for the rest of the weekend. The moment the next morning’s practiced ended however, he wasted absolutely no time in his search for the truth. 

 

As they walked towards the dorms to grab their bags before class, he immediately rounded on Conor after ensuring that their conversation was private. “Conor, I  _ know _ something happened with you and Ned on Saturday night.”

 

Wally looked over quickly, his face full of confusion. “What? Did I miss something?”

 

Conor shook his head. “No, Victor’s just the only one of us blessed with the power of knowledge.”

 

“Or maybe, I’m just the only one taking the time to look. Something also changed yesterday after we left, right?”

 

He was really gonna make Conor have to get used to this kind of thing, wasn’t he? “Victor, if you already know everything, why don’t  _ you _ tell Wally what happened?”

 

Victor raised an eyebrow. “I could, but then you’d probably burn me at the stake for witchcraft.”

 

Wally leaned forward to look at him from Conor’s other side. “Is that a confession? Cause I was saving the torches for Darcy, but I have a couple to spare.”

 

Victor was determined to not let the conversation veer away from the point he was making, however. “ _ Anyway, _ Conor, please share with the class the events of the past twenty-four hours.”

 

Conor craned his neck towards the cloudy sky. He simply couldn’t put it off any longer. He wanted to tell them of course, but would there be no privacy with Victor? He glanced behind them and lowered his voice. “We kissed.”

 

Wally gasped. “Damn, so soon? I owe Darcy ten quid. I thought it’d take until the new year or something.” 

 

Both Victor and Conor looked at him in surprise, but Conor simply didn’t have the energy to be annoyed anymore. He’d really have to try harder if they were going to successfully keep their relationship a secret. 

 

“So are you two like, together now?” Victor asked.

 

“Yeah, I guess so.”

 

His friend let out a breath. “About time too, I was getting worried I’d be waiting forever.”

 

Wally laughed. “What’s it to you anyway?”

 

Victor gave him a look. “Says you! I wasn’t the one making bets.”

 

Conor cut in, taking a moment to bring things down to a more serious level. “Really though guys, you know how important it is that we keep this on the down low. Like, sub-zero kind of low.”

 

Wally patted him on the back and looked at him kind eyes. “No doubt about it, my friend. Your secret’s safe with us.”

  
  


______________________________________________________________________________

  
  


_ Not that I want to interfere with Conor’s ‘focus’ or anything, but I hope he’s thinking about me watching him during practice. I’m surely not going to stop any time soon. _

  
  


______________________________________________________________________________

  
  


To his pleasant surprise, Darcy joined Ned in his perch in the bleachers during Monday’s afternoon practice. Maybe he’d be able to explain some things to Ned about what the hell was going on so that Ned wouldn’t be so delirious with boredom during those hours.

 

“Glad to see you’ve decided to join me.” He greeted. “Aren’t you worried that Weasel’s gonna be pissy when he sees you, though?”

 

Darcy rolled his eyes, his signature move. “I’ve got better things to do than worry about his anger management problems. Besides, I thought it’d be fun to watch from the sidelines for once. I already have so much more energy after quitting; thanks for pushing me to do it.”

 

“I’ll encourage anyone around here to quit rugby, we need more students who don’t give so much of a fuck. Except for Conor, I suppose.”

 

Darcy eyed him from his seat on the bench below him. “Speaking of Conor, Wally gave me ten pounds after classes today.”

 

Ned furrowed his eyebrows. “I don’t see the connection.”

 

“He told me that you and Conor kissed on Saturday after the whole pool situation. I bet that you’d do it before January, and it looks like I was right.”

 

Ned groaned and leaned back on the bench. “I can’t believe you didn’t bet at least twenty.”

 

Darcy snorted. “My mistake. So what’s the scoop? You two an item now?”

 

“You could say that. I don’t wanna say he’s my boyfriend or anything yet; that seems too presumptuous, when I don’t even know how we’re gonna get through all this. Learning how to be with someone for the first time must be hard enough, and we gotta do it in secret.”

 

The dark haired boy nodded sympathetically. “I’m sorry, that’s gotta be tough.”

 

Ned appreciated that he didn’t have to ask if Darcy approved of any of it. They’d somehow gotten so close that his support was a given. “I’d be way more fucked up about it if we didn’t have you guys backing us up. I didn’t think I’d be adopted by a group of athletes when I came back this year.”

 

Darcy’s eyes lit up and he gave him a smile that was full of warmth. “Of course, mate! I pretty much organized the Ned Protection League after what Weasel said last week.”

 

Ned was taken aback. “I’m sorry, what?”

 

Darcy gave him a look that said that perhaps he missed a rule about mentioning this to their friend. “Yeah, I thought you knew. After I quit the team, he made a scene about anyone who quits being a fag, and told Conor that he’d…” He hesitated. “Well, he said some shit that wasn’t out of character for him.”

 

Ned looked away to the boys on the field hurling themselves into heavy sandbags, filling up with anxiety and doubt, not for the first time since their kiss. Maybe the risk was more prevalent than he thought, and disaster was already taking shape. Before he could fall too far into these thoughts, Darcy put a hand on his knee and shook him. 

 

“Hey,  _ don’t worry about it. _ It’s nothing new, and it’s not gonna get any worse. You’ve got four burly dudes behind you, and Weasel or anyone else isn’t gonna get within an inch of you guys. I want you two to be happy and do whatever you want, and Victor’s not the only one who can see how much you care about each other.”

 

Ned was feeling so fucking blessed.

  
  


______________________________________________________________________________

  
  


_ I could jump off the school roof and be convinced that I could fly with how I’m feeling right now. I used to think that I didn’t deserve to feel this good. It honestly makes me want to start praying again.  _

_ I haven’t prayed since before Mum died, she used to make me do it with her every night before I went to bed. She made me thank God for the roof over my head and the air we breathe, and I stopped caring about any of that after she fell. _

 

_ I felt like he abandoned us when I saw the ambulance outside our house, that he walked out the door with me and let her die alone. I’ll never know why he had to take her back to heaven so soon. But if my friend can fall into an empty concrete pool and walk out with a bad back, maybe they’re up there together, watching out for me.  _

 

_ If I can wake up one day with a perfect boy to kiss and friends who want to keep us safe, maybe I’ll have to start thanking him again, and hope that he sticks around. _

  
  


______________________________________________________________________________

  
  


The next few days passed by in a haze of Irish fog and homework, and true to Ned’s desires, nothing spectacular happened. The boys were taking a needed break from the whiskey, and Wally was doing what he could to practice with his back cracking in all sorts of ways. Ned and Darcy began doing their chemistry homework in the library together, because Ned was proving to be completely hopeless, and Darcy had enough efficiency for the both of them. 

 

Darcy was trying to explain certain precious metals being in groups of specific elements, and Ned slammed his head on the table and exclaimed, “Darce, I literally have no clue what the fuck you’re on about.”

 

So besides stealing kisses with Conor in between the mornings before classes and during lunch, life was quiet. The two were spending a quiet night in their room with the door latched behind them, sitting on the floor just a few inches apart. 

 

“So, is this as exciting as you’d thought it be when you caught your sister and her boyfriend making out?” Ned asked leaning on his side against the bed, gazing into Conor’s brown eyes.

 

Conor snorted. “Way better.”

 

Ned was grazing Conor’s fingertips with his own, and he felt so blissed out, even though he’d probably been blushing for hours. “Everything at practice going okay?”

 

“Yeah, I feel like I’m getting better every day. It’s not the same without Darcy though, and Wally’s having a hard time keeping up with his back still messed up. I tried to get him to get it checked out, but he doesn’t want to expose our pool spot, the dumbass. He doesn’t think he broke a rib or anything, though. But he did have time trying to explain why his back is so bruised up in the showers.” 

 

Ned let out a breath. “Yeah, we’re definitely gonna have to find a new spot for him to drink.”

 

“Have you talked to him about that?”

 

He nodded. “Yeah, he says he gets it, and he apologized for scaring me so badly. I’m still thinking about it a lot though, ya know? I keep seeing it happen, and even though it’s normal teenage bullshit, it still gives me this uneasy feeling. I wonder if he even thinks about the fact that it could’ve been way worse.”

 

Conor laced their fingers together. “That kid’s not scared of anything. But maybe he was more shaken up about it than we thought, he doesn’t talk about himself that much. But it makes sense that you’re still feeling weird about it, so don’t feel too bad.”

 

Ned smiled gratefully at him. “Maybe we could find a place  _ indoors _ to hang out in. It’s getting too damn cold outside, and it’s gonna start snowing soon. I wouldn’t want Gerard’s star player getting hypothermia before another match or anything.”

 

“I’m definitely on board with that. But we won’t be having another match before January, I think. Still, Gerry’s working us like it’s the championship every day, and I wouldn’t blame anyone for saying it’s too much.”

 

Ned looked at him with admiration. “How is it that you have all this energy? The others seem beat all the time, but you keep going at it like it’s nothing. Sometimes I look at the other guys during practice, and you’ve obviously got the most stamina.”

 

Conor shrugged. “I think that’s cause it’s more than a workout or the game for me. I just like to move my body as much as I can, and I love being challenged to do more. I really just  _ enjoy _ doing it, and even if I wasn’t on a team, I’d still be doing anything that makes me feel like that. Does that make any sense? Pascal doesn’t bother me as much, cause playing rugby feels so natural.”

 

The other boy nodded. “I get what you’re saying, I think I’d feel the same way if I was challenged to do more writing than english essays or just in my journal. You’ve noticed, I write every day cause it’s really fun, and I like seeing how many things or feelings I can write about.”

 

Conor looked delighted by these words. “Maybe you could talk to Mr Sherry about doing something extra like that. You won the essay competition easily, maybe he can set something up for you.”

 

The fact that Conor was trying to encourage him to have a passion or a goal was clear, and Ned loved him for it. He leaned in and kissed Conor gently, who pressed back with enthusiasm. But there had been a question taking shape in Ned’s mind since Monday.

 

He pulled back and their eyes met once more. “Why didn’t you tell me about whatever Weasel said last week? Darcy told me that something went down and I came up.”

 

Conor leaned away and averted his eyes. “I don’t know, he was just being an asshole. I don’t let it bother me anymore, and I don’t want you to stress out about it either.”

 

Ned ran his fingers along the hem of Conor’s shirt and looked down. “I don’t think anything’s gonna stop me from stressing around here. It’s only Wednesday and I’m already tense from having to hide this. I just want to shout it from the rooftops, Conor Masters is crushing on me.” He looked back up with a sense of pride. 

 

Conor kissed him again; he just couldn’t seem to stop since the first time. “You got that right.” He whispered against his lips.

 

Ned let himself melt into his touch and they stayed that way for a few more quiet minutes. After a while, Conor spoke again. 

 

“Let’s go somewhere.”

 

Ned paused. “What do you mean?”

 

“Like, let’s go  _ out, _ into town. We can take the train and spend the whole day being together outside our room. Maybe we could even  _ hold hands _ or something.” He smirked.

 

Ned’s heart felt a million times lighter. “Oh, I love the sound of that. When?” 

 

The biggest grin made its way across Conor’s face. “Let’s go on Sunday. We can wake up early and get the hell out of here.”

 

They spent the rest of the evening on the floor of their bedroom, wrapped in each other’s arms.

  
  


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_ I would also like to thank the heavenly bodies for the irresponsible disregard for Woodhill College students, because no one around here seems to give a damn about where they go. Three days until we can sneak off and I don’t have to look at another boy in uniform for a whole day. I don’t think I’ll be sleeping until then. _

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Victor's psychic, probably. Also I really don't know how Irish people talk in casual conversation, so sorry if I end up inserting a lot of my own lingo into this.
> 
> Enjoy!


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More squad hangouts, cause I can't get enough of these boys

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! If you didn't notice, I wrote the first twelve chapters in twelve days, and I was in a fugue state the whole time. Honestly I don't remember anything before chapter seven, so forgive any inconsistencies.
> 
> Anyways, here's a short chapter with the boys before Ned and Conor take their day trip, you can definitely expect at least one group scene in almost every chapter. Writing about all of them hanging out is so much fun!
> 
> Leave a comment; they make my day and I appreciate every one!

_ I knew I had to come back to the pool before I wouldn’t be able to go back at all. Besides it being a good spot to hang out if the weather’s okay, I don’t want to let things like this control me or my emotions. I’m already afraid of enough at this school, and I can’t let what happened with Wally take this place away from me. _

 

_ I wonder if my dad has moments like this. I wonder if he dreams about her too, or if he’s already forgotten. He’s so different now, but I wonder if he feels as lonely as I do without her. I guess that’s what Natalie’s for. I used to wonder if he and my mum were ever really in love, but I think he understands why I stay in the house, and know that they must’ve been.  _

_ I’m at the pool, and it’s definitely not getting any warmer. When I got here, my heart started racing and I thought that night had suddenly fallen right before my eyes. The whole scene when Wally fell kept flashing in front of me, but sitting down, I’m starting to feel better. I should sit at the edge, and even climb down to the bottom, but even thinking about that makes my hands shake. I thought about asking Conor to come with me, but I needed to do this alone. I might be here for a while. _

 

_ I wonder what I should get Conor for Christmas. Victor wants to do a gift exchange, and I hope he knows how happy that makes me. When I first met Victor, I just thought that he was some tall bystander. I knew that he wasn’t a guy that would let Weasel to  _ _ anything _ _ he wanted, but I didn’t get how he could stand behind Conor and celebrate with Weasel afterwards. But I’m starting to figure him out. He’s always looking. Not just at me, but at everything, and everyone. Maybe he thought that if he was friends with someone that aggressive, he could curb him or something. Or, being Victor, maybe he sees something that none of us do.  _

 

_ I’m sitting closer to the edge now. I wonder what me and Conor will do when we go into town. I think I just want to embrace being temporarily free from campus, and look at something else besides the school buildings. It’ll be a Sunday, and Irish people don’t do much besides drink and go to Church on Sundays. Maybe we’ll just walk around and talk about whatever the fuck we wanna talk about. I think he feels the pressure inside the walls of Woodhill like I do; I still feel like the thin insulation of our bedroom is listening to everything we say sometimes.  _

 

_ I know I say this all the damn time, but just as our friendship happened so suddenly, diving into whatever this is feels so natural with him. I feel like when we’re alone together, I can breathe deeply. Like he opens up my weakened lungs, and we don’t even have to say anything. There’s nothing to prove to him, and the hours just fly away. I can’t believe how fast the days are passing by now that I’m enjoying them so much more.  _

 

_ I thought that things between me and Conor would be awkward or rushed or too slow once we became a ‘thing,’ but I feel like we’re trying our best to keep things secret, and are taking it as slow as we want. I never feel pressured with him. Things are pretty normal, with the added bonus of kissing behind a closed door, especially with the group. I thought that Wally would at least make some jokes, but they all seem perfectly content with whatever this is. There hasn’t been any PDA besides Conor putting his arm around me a couple times, and I’m very much okay with that; I’m sure this low-level paranoia isn’t going anywhere until I graduate.  _

 

_ I’m on the edge of the pool, and I’m just trying to think about how I’ll need a new journal soon. I’ll have to remember to get another one when Conor and I go into town, and I’ll get something better than this composition notebook. Maybe I’ll get a leatherbound one to keep all my secrets. Sometimes I wonder who I’m writing all this to, because I definitely don’t expect anyone here to read it. Maybe in a few years I’ll read it all again, and remember my time in educational prison. Hi, older Ned. I hope you’re living in some studio apartment far away from Ireland, and you haven’t seen Natalie’s face in ages.  _

 

_ I’m in the pool now, and to wipe away the images of the fall and steady my heart, I’m just thinking about the way Conor looks at me whenever I kiss him. God, he’s so fucking handsome. I wonder where else his ancestors are from, because it’s impossible for Irishmen to be that pretty. I love pushing the hair out of his eyes, and I can see his whole face looking back at me. I want to remember that look forever. I can’t even explain what that look says, but his brown eyes speak volumes, even when he doesn’t have anything to say.  _

 

_ As much as I want to live somewhere where I have nothing to hide, I like the feeling of having my own secret source of daily happiness. No one, except Victor probably, knows about our plans for Sunday, and that already feels freeing. It makes my heart race, and these are the moments of joy that are just for us, and no one can touch them. _

  
  


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When Ned returned to the dorm long after darkness had fallen over the grounds, (the days were becoming increasingly short, much to his displeasure,) he found Conor sitting at his desk, leaning meticulously over his studies. He must’ve really been in the zone, because he didn’t look up when Ned walked in.

 

The blond locked the door upon entry and set down his bag before walking over to Conor’s hunched form and leaning over his shoulder. Conor must have noticed his presence after all, because he didn’t jump. 

 

“You’re gonna get scoliosis with posture like that.”

 

“Hm.” Was all the other boy responded with. Ned placed his hands on his shoulders and rested his chin in his hair. 

 

“You’re probably the only player on the team who cares this much about school. You know you get the most leeway on tests being the rugby star, right?” 

 

This prompted Conor to finally spin around in his chair, leaning his forehead on Ned’s chest and sighing. “Doesn’t make the midterms any less painful. What’ve you been up to?”

 

Ned ran his fingers through Conor’s hair. “I’ve been at the pool.”

 

The other boy looked up. “Alone?” Ned nodded. “I could’ve come with you.”

 

Ned smiled down at him. “Nah, I wanted to go alone. I had to get used to sitting around there so I could go back with the rest of you.” The brunette hummed and put his arms around Ned’s waist. They sat there for a few moments while Ned continued to twist the strands of hair around his fingers. 

 

“I’m gonna cut your hair.”

 

Conor leaned back and looked at him in surprise. “What?”

 

Ned smirked at him and said, “I wouldn’t be caught dead on a date with someone so shaggy.”

 

Conor chuckled. “I think someone would get an idea if you cut my hair in the dorm bathroom.”

 

Ned thought for a moment before putting his hands on his hips and shrugging. “That’s why we’re goin’ to the pool’s locker room.”

 

Conor raised his eyebrows and asked with sympathy in his voice, “There? You sure?”

 

Before Ned had a chance to appreciate Conor’s regard for his comfort, there was a knock on the door. Ned moved from his place to unlock and open the door, and to his lack of surprise, found Wally and Darcy. 

 

“Hope we’re not interrupting.” Wally said, pushing past the doorway and inviting himself into their shared space. 

 

“No, please, come in.” Ned responded with an eye roll.

 

Darcy leaned against the closed door. “Wallace is driving me  _ insane _ trying to study for this test. It’s becoming painful to watch him concentrate so hard, and we both need a distraction.”

 

Ned perked up, a sudden glimmer in his eyes. “Actually, this is perfect timing. I’m about to cut Conor’s hair and I might as well kill four birds with one stone. Grab a towel.”

 

Wally, taken aback, turned and studied his appearance in the mirror. “What? What’s wrong with my hair?”

 

Darcy laughed. “I’m in. We’re all looking terribly unkempt.”

 

Conor sighed in defeat and rose up from his chair. “I’ll go get Victor.”

  
  


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Fifteen minutes and a pair of clippers later, the five boys were unlocking the door and entering the empty locker room. Ned was looking positively delighted as Conor sat down on the bench in front of him with a towel over his shoulders. 

 

“It’s criminal that we have to wait until school holidays to get haircuts.” He had his whole grooming kit with him, spray bottle, clips, scissors, and all. 

 

“I promise Eddie, you’re the only one that cares.” Wally said from his seat on the bench across from them. 

 

Ned pointed the scissors at him threateningly. “Remember that I have a bag of sharp objects the next time you think about uttering that name in front of me, Wallace.” 

 

Darcy crossed his arms, he was sitting on the tiled floor wearing an old t-shirt, almost shivering in the cold. “I’m excited, actually. You’re getting rid of his bangs, right?”

 

Ned grinned. “Of course.”

 

Conor looked alarmed and exclaimed, “I thought they looked okay!” And after spraying his hair, Ned leaned down and said in his ear, 

 

“You were wrong.” 

 

Victor’s laugh echoed around the room. “It’s a welcome break from studying for midterms.”

 

Wally groaned. “Please, let’s talk about anything else. It’s making me miss the whiskey.”

 

“Yeah, I’m actually quite enjoying your sobriety.” Darcy replied, rolling his eyes. 

 

Victor shrugged. “It’s nice not being hungover during practice. Gerry doesn’t give a fuck about midterms, you’d think we were playing the final every day on top of it all. I think he’s pissed cause his gin still tastes salty.”

 

“Yeah, we could’ve timed that better.” Conor said as golden brown hair was falling onto his shoulders. 

 

Ned was too focused on making Conor’s ends as neat as possible to reminisce about the Salt Incident. He’d only ever cut his own hair, and though it might not be perfect, it would be passable. He was secretly enjoying touching Conor this much in the presence of their friends, and was excited to execute the plan he’d been coming up with for his roommate. Once he was satisfied with his work, he sent Conor off to look in the mirror and dusted off the clipper blades. 

 

“Victor, you’re up next.”

 

Ned called him forth because he couldn’t lie, he wanted to see Victor’s blond curls up close. The boy in question seated himself in front of him and said, 

 

“By the way Conor’s looking at himself right now, you could cut hair if the writing thing doesn’t work out, Ned.”

 

Ned looked over at Conor in between spritzing Victor’s hair and grinned. Indeed, he was turning his head to inspect the clean lines and even shave, clearly impressed. 

 

“And what do you know about the writing thing, Victor?” Ned brushed the comb through his hair. 

 

Victor must have been smirking; Ned could hear it in his voice. “I know everything.”

 

Darcy spoke up. “Yeah Victor, I have eyes too, but I don’t get where your sixth sense comes from. You knew about Ned and Conor pretty much as soon as it happened.”

 

Victor shrugged again, and Ned tapped his head at the movement, ignoring the blush creeping up his neck. “Are you surprised? I was raised by lesbians; knowing everyone’s business is second nature.”

 

Ned suddenly halted his work, and the room, besides Conor, let out a collective, “What?”

 

There was no way that Victor had unintentionally left this information unsaid until now. Darcy narrowed his eyes and said, “And you never thought to share this until now? I’m insulted, Victor.”

 

Ned resumed his snipping. “I knew that you were too cool about everything for a rugby idiot.”

 

Wally looked offended and raised his arms. “Will I always be ignored like this?”

 

Darcy looked over. “Never for very long, unfortunately. Victor, I’ve been your designated driver for how long, and you’ve never told us this?”

 

“I told Conor a while back. No one else knows, it’s sensitive information and I had to make sure you guys were the real deal. Wouldn’t want anyone like Wesley finding out.” 

 

Ned sighed. “True, but I’m easily the gayest one here, I’d’ve thought it would’ve come up at some point. But I’ll forgive you if you let me give you a bit of an undercut.”

 

Victor chuckled. “Deal. Where’d you learn to cut hair anyways?” 

 

“Don’t panic, but I’ve never cut anyone’s hair besides my own. I taught myself, and that definitely resulted in some cringe worthy school pictures.”

 

Darcy wasn’t one to forget the previous conversation, however. “Anyone else have any secrets they want to divulge tonight?” 

 

Ned hummed. “Conor’s got a cool sister in America. Took him ages to tell me.” 

 

Wally raised his eyebrows. “Really? I’ve met your dad Conor, and as much as he talked about you, he didn’t mention your sister.”

 

Conor was leaning back against the empty lockers, still running his hands through his newly trimmed hair. “Yeah, she’s kind of a forbidden topic in our house. She ditched the country to go to film school in California, but my mum still sends her trust fund money.” He didn’t mention that he was going to visit her for winter break; he wanted to talk to Ned about that on his own. 

 

Wally seemed to be searching for something to offer in his mind as Ned called him up next, finishing up with Victor. “Once, my cousin got me so drunk over Easter holiday that I ate a whole vine of grapes before I realized that they were made of wax.” 

 

Darcy slapped his forehead with his hand and leaned over his knees, positively wheezing with laughter at the thought.  

 

Wally gave him the smuggest of looks. “I knew you still loved me, Darce.”

 

Darcy took a deep breath. “I thought I’d gotten over how stupid you are, mate.”

 

Conor thought of something that he knew Wally would get a kick out of. “I happen to know that Ned’s been religiously listening to My Love by Justin Timberlake lately.”

 

Ned removed his hands from Wally’s now raucous form and gave Conor a look of sheer betrayal. “How could you single handedly destroy my punk reputation like that? I thought we had something, Conor.”

 

Wallace couldn’t stop himself. “Don’t worry, JT, what happens in the pool locker room stays in the pool locker room.” 

 

“That’s it. Tomorrow, you’ll find your mattress in the river. I’m done with you, get out of my sight.” He shoved the chuckling boy off of the bench and gestured Darcy to replace his spot. Wally’s hair required the least amount of maintenance, since it looked best at its shortest.

 

Victor spoke up. “And what about you, Darcy? What are you hiding behind that cold exterior?”

 

Darcy gave him a side eye. “I’ve got nothing to hide, thank you very much.”

 

A wicked grin spread across Wally’s face as he looked at his reflection. “Is that so?” He turned on the spot and leaned against the sink, clearly eager to share some revealing information. “Then, as your roommate, you won’t mind if I tell them that you started shaving in an unsavory area since quitting the rugby team, will you? I wasn’t gonna say anything, but since we’re all sharing…” 

 

Darcy’s face reddened immediately, and Ned, trying not to laugh, had to remove his hands, he was shaking so bad. “Darcy, I’m impressed! And yet, it took you this long to get your hair cut.” Darcy’s nearly black hair was becoming mane-like, and Ned was dying to shave the sides down.

 

Darcy kept his head held high amidst his friend’s laughter. “Well, I thought I’d give it a shot since I don’t have fourteen self-conscious blokes looking at my junk all the time, but it still looks like I have one.” He glared at Wally. 

 

The tallest of the group removed his hand from his face, recovering from his own giggles. “Honestly, I’m surprised Pascal doesn’t make us all do that for increased agility or something.”

 

Conor sighed dramatically. “To think, the only reason we can’t get our footing right is cause we haven’t thought to shave our pubes.”

 

Ned would’ve rolled his eyes if he wasn’t so concentrated on trimming Darcy’s locks with the clippers. “Please, let’s not dive into conversation about the rugby team’s genitals. This place is already overflowing with testosterone and I’m just about at my limit. I don’t want to imagine all of the penis envy in that locker room.”

 

“I hear that.” Said Darcy, his head bent to the side under Ned’s hands.

  
  


After the boys had shaken off the excess hair outside into the grass, they made their way back up to the school, Ned feeling very accomplished along the way. He secretly felt a small sense of pride, walking with four clean cut teenagers, all looking so handsome by his doing. 

 

“How are we going to explain why we look so pristine during practice tomorrow?” Wally asked into the darkness. 

 

Ned smirked and said, “Just say that your collective fairy godmother paid you a visit during the night.”

  
  


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_ There’s something about watching a bunch of athletic, sweaty boys run around on the field from a distance, but there’s something completely different about being in the company of four of them all the time. Honestly, how did I not notice how handsome my friends are before now?  _

 

_ I’m starting to wonder about Darcy, I’m not gonna lie. Not saying that all gay men subscribe to the same grooming standards, but I have my suspicions. I’ll ask Victor, he’ll know for sure. I can’t believe he has two mums, and they’re married! I suppose I’ve never entertained the idea that there are gay adults who do gay adult things until I found out about Mr Sherry.  _

_ That gives me hope. Marriage is such a sham of course, and a certificate doesn’t validate the human experience in any way, but it’s nice to know I have the option. I hope I get to meet his mums one day. _

  
  
  



	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> THE DATE.

_ As difficult as it is to write in the dark, there’s not a chance I’ll fall asleep any time soon. I’m too fucking excited for tomorrow. Conor passed out pretty much immediately after dinner. I went to practice today with Darcy today, and I’m impressed that any of them could even walk after all that. Darcy’s been talking me through all of their plays lately, and I’m getting the gist of it. I told him about mine and Conor’s trip tomorrow and asked if he could cover for us if anyone asked. I doubt anyone will though; the school’s pretty dead on Sundays, especially the rugby team. _

 

_ I keep saying this, but the puppies look so good with their haircuts.  _

  
  


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Ned woke up the next morning to a hand on his shoulder, shaking him gently. It had taken him forever to fall asleep, and in his haze he wondered why anyone would wake him at what was surely an ungodly hour. When he opened his eyes to see Conor standing over his bed, he remembered what they had planned, and butterflies erupted in his stomach.

 

“Ugh, why so early, Conor?” 

 

Conor leaned over and whispered in his ear. “Cause we’re gonna get breakfast in town. And I wanna sneak out of here before the rest of the school wakes up.”

 

Ned couldn’t help the warmth that blossomed in his chest at the proposition. Conor left the room to let him wake up for a few more minutes before they got dressed. Ned didn’t have too many clothes outside of his uniform, but he’d planned his outfit days ago. Nothing special, just his usual button up with an unironic sweater vest and denim jacket. He had, however, shined his favorite shoes after classes the day before.

 

The two snuck out the school in record time, and some diving presence had apparently thought to gift them with a sunny morning as they nearly ran to the train station, all exhaustion from the previous night vanishing without a trace.

 

On the train, Ned was almost bristling with nerves that he sat across from Conor, just to be safe. He wasn’t expecting to run into anyone that they knew, but it felt like the farther they traveled from the school, the more his fears began to slip away. About halfway through the ride, Conor gave him a knowing look and moved to sit next to him, seeing that he’d been overthinking their seating situation far too much. Conor didn’t say anything; he knew exactly how to speak with his actions, and gave his reassurance by taking Ned’s hand in his own and giving him a gentle kiss on the temple.

 

Everything was going to be fine. 

 

The sun was beautiful, rising slowly over the hills and into the train windows. Ned loved taking the train, when he was little, he’d always stay awake to watch the scenery drift by. Despite his insomnia from the night before, he was now feeling more awake than ever, his eyes out the window and his heart right next to him.

 

When they stepped off the train and onto the platform of few morning commuters, Ned was going to say something about dying for a cup of coffee, when Conor just about swept him off his feet. Right there in the morning chill, in front of whoever would be watching, he turned on the spot, rested his hands on Ned’s waist, and kissed him. It was soft, but determined, as if to say that it didn’t matter where they were or who was around, Conor wanted this freedom as much as he did.

 

And it was fucking exhilarating. Ned almost gasped into the kiss, but after a split second, got the message and let his worries fall straight into the ground. The world melted away, and today, they wouldn’t be hiding in their dorm. The day was all their own, and not a soul could touch it. 

 

Conor pulled away slowly and looked at Ned, his brown eyes full of quiet elation.

 

“Let’s get some breakfast.”

  
  


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Neither of them knew the area very well, but the night that Ned had snuck away during their semi-finals, he got a vague lay of the streets. Driven by their appetite and need for caffeine, the boys found a small diner that would be open for Sunday morning. 

 

Luckily, they settled in before the church goers would be arriving, and were hidden in the back of the nearly empty cafe. Ned was just looking at his date over his cup of coffee, enjoying the opportunity to openly admire him. He so loved looking at Conor, his hair no longer hiding his wonderful features. Being such an enthusiast about personal grooming, Ned had to appreciate the other boy’s eyebrows. He’d never really seen them before, and he almost felt envious of their natural shape. And wow, this guy’s jawline was power. He trailed his eyes up to the fine edges of his hair that he’d cut, and looked at the way it curved over his ear into his hairline, and somehow, even that was perfect.

 

Conor let him stare on for a while, a blush creeping into his cheeks before smirking and saying, “And what are you looking at?”

 

Ned didn’t have it in him to feel even slightly embarrassed as their food arrived. “I was just wondering how I ended up here with someone so pretty.” 

 

Conor looked like he was trying not to enjoy the attention so mcuh. “You’re definitely the pretty boy out of the two of us.”

 

Ned rolled his eyes, taking a bite of buttered toast. “Right. I’ve been meaning to ask you, you can’t be all Irish, right? I mean, there isn’t an Irish person alive with lips like that.”

 

Conor almost choked. “My grandpa was half black, I guess it shows.” He averted his eyes, definitely going pink now. “It was so weird growing up, my mom’s friends always talked about how big my lips are, so I’ve always been kinda hyper aware about it.”

 

Ned raised his eyebrows. “Yikes. Middle aged women know nothing of boundaries.” He leaned in slightly. “But I think I feel a little differently about it then they do. At least, I hope so.”

 

Conor couldn’t help but grin now, and looked over at Ned. “And what about you? When we first met, I thought the ginger was natural. When you bleached it, I thought you’ve might’ve done your eyebrows too.”

 

Ned scoffed. “Bleached eyebrows? Horrendous. Nothing special about me, Conor, I’m pure blood Irish. Legendary for being among the whitest people in the world.”

 

“I have to disagree, Eddie, you’re gorgeous.” He said it quietly, but with such certainty that Ned didn’t want to argue, forgiving the nickname immediately. How did Conor manage to be so upfront about these things all the time? He wasn’t trying to flatter Ned or anything; he meant everything he said genuinely, and Ned loved that about him. 

 

After a few minutes of digging into their breakfast as more people started to file into the cafe, Ned broke the silence. “So I guess my guitar thing was kind of a phase, but you’re actually pretty good at it. You enjoyed doing it, so why’d you stop?”

 

Conor shrugged. “I didn’t really mean to. I guess I got caught up with other things, especially with midterms coming up and hanging out with the others all the time. I’d like to get back into it, but I still feel kind of bad about picking it up after ditching you at the show.”

 

Ned chuckled. “Trust me, I’ve long since gotten over it. You should pick it up again, maybe you could serenade me sometime.”

 

Conor leaned his elbow against the table and narrowed his eyes. “Sure, if you read me something from your journal.”

 

The blond threw his head back dramatically and sighed. “I don’t think there’s a soul on this earth that I’d share my innermost thoughts with like that, even you. You might have to wait until it gets published after I’m long gone.”

 

Conor shook his head and took a sip from his mug. “It doesn’t have to be anything too dark and mysterious. I see you laughing to yourself when you’re writing sometimes, I know it’s not all bad.”

 

“I’ll see what I can do. Speaking of journals, I want to get another one today. I’ve filled up the first one and it doesn’t feel right talking shit about my peers in a composition notebook anymore.”

  
  


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The two decided to leave the diner once it had started to fill up with obvious church goers, and strolled down the sunlit streets in search of a bookstore hand in hand. Ned couldn’t stop himself from glancing around for unfriendly faces from time to time, but he was elated by the lack of boys in uniform staring him down. Conor didn’t seem bothered at all, and squeezed his hand a little tighter whenever they passed someone on the sidewalk. Ned couldn’t be more grateful for his quiet confidence. 

 

After browsing the bookstore for the perfect journal and a sneaky gift for Conor’s Christmas present, the boys were outside once again. The small bookstore was like a goldmine for Ned, and he could’ve spent hours among the shelves, but as cold as it was, he couldn’t stand to be inside for much longer. The sky looked so much bluer than usual and he felt like the sunlight was in his chest, but maybe that was just the boy next to him. Ned’s keen senses of prime hangout spots took them to a small park, overlooking a fountain next to the bay. They sat down on a park bench, and Ned could feel the air moving in his lungs, making him feel calmer than he had in a long time. He felt lighter than air and took Conor’s hand in his own. 

 

“I imagine this is what it feels like to get out of prison.” 

 

Conor laughed and leaned in to kiss his cheek. “Well, we have the whole day to enjoy it.”

 

Honestly, Ned could have sat outside for another twelve hours and be perfectly content. He looked out at the water and drank in the sight of new surroundings. “During trips for rugby matches, I’d always sneak off to wander around, I love being away from it all. Uniforms, professors, grade point averages. For a little while, I could see that there’s other things in the world besides school.”

 

Conor nodded. “I hear that. Sometimes I wish I could bail on matches, or even just practices. Things are so intense with the team all the time.”

 

“Things with Gerard still going okay?”

 

Conor’s eyes moved to the fountain as he looked for the right words to say. “Yeah, I guess ‘okay’ is the only word for it. But after things died down after the final, I feel like I have to prove myself more than everyone else all the time.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Honestly, I don’t care about being the best on the team; that’s not why I play. I just care about playing the game and being on a team in the first place, but I really don’t think Pascal gets that. I like winning, but I don’t have the same sense of life or death competition as he does. So I end up feeling like it’s okay if I’m gay as long as I’m better than the whole team, but if I slip up or have an off day, suddenly…” He sighed and drifted off. “I don’t know, the pressure was on as soon as I joined the team, but now it’s even heavier.” 

 

Ned leaned against his shoulder. “Maybe things will cool down after winter holiday; he won’t have anyone to fuck with for two weeks.”

 

Conor hummed. “Maybe.” But Ned knew he didn’t really believe it. 

 

“You going back to your parents for Christmas?” Ned asked.

 

Conor raised his eyebrows like he’d just remembered something. “Actually, I’m going to spend it with Janey in California, she saved up to fly me out. The time difference is gonna be mad, but I’ll still call you.” He was looking at Ned with those big brown eyes again. “You going back to your house?”

 

“Yeah, my dad and Natalie don’t come back for the holidays, just to take me to school. I’ll take the train to my house when break starts.”

 

Conor didn’t hesitate. “Will you feel lonely?”

 

Ned smiled. As usual, Conor didn’t beat around the bush, and he was thankful for it. “Well, I’ll miss you, surely. And I actually think I’ll miss the rest of the puppies, to my great surprise. But no, I’ll appreciate being away from the school for a while; I like having all that space to walk around in and think about shit. Even though it’s a little sad, I’m really glad I can spend Christmas there, it’s kind of like being with her, in a weird way.”

 

Conor leaned his forehead against Ned’s temple and closed his eyes. “Makes sense to me. You can call me whenever you want.” He leaned back and grinned. “And did you call our friends  _ puppies _ ?” 

 

Ned laughed, his face glowing in the sunlight. “Yeah, that’s what I call them when I’m writing. I’ve never had a puppy, but I imagine that’s what they’re like. So happy and easily excitable. Irritating, but adorable all the same.” He looked Conor in the eyes again. “I can’t believe you’re gonna be in California for two weeks, are you excited?”

 

Conor let the subject change and anticipation rise in his chest. “You bet I am. I don’t even know what to expect besides what I’ve seen on TV, maybe we’ll go to the beach and I won’t have to wear a coat all the time. Janey says that I’ll be too young to drink there, but I’m not too bummed about it. I’ve never been outside the UK before, so I think it’ll be a major culture shock.”

 

“Christ, I can’t imagine what it must be like to surrounded by some genuine diversity. I feel like I can’t learn anything about the world around here, ya know? Everyone looks and acts the same, and I’d stick out like a sore thumb even if I didn’t try to. Ireland is such a bubble of conformity, I’d love to see some people who look different from me for once.” He suddenly felt the urge to walk and admire of much of the city as he could, and stood up, extending his hand for Conor to take. Together they began walking along the rail separating the park from the water. 

 

He continued, “Speaking of conformity, we’re living in the 21st century. Why does everyone think that most people are straight? Since learning about Victor’s parents and meeting Sherry’s partner, it got me thinking that yes, there are other gay people around here, and yet everyone keeps acting like it’s a secret. Why is it still such a big deal? I’m thankful that we can hold hands like this and not worry too much about violence, but what about at school? Is it toxic masculinity at its purest? Most of those guys have grown up in all-male boarding schools; they know nothing about sexuality or any of that shit. Of  _ course _ there are gonna be gay students, it’s statistically impossible for it to be any other way. And it’s not like anyone there has ever had a girlfriend or anything, so how do they even know and why is it so important?”

 

Ned realized that he was ranting up a storm as they wandered slowly, and looked up at Conor, ready to apologize for taking up so much space. However, Conor was looking thoughtfully into the distance, mulling over his words. 

 

“I don’t think it’s actually about sexuality or anything like, that. Not really. You’re right; all those blokes are virgins and no one talks about any of it unless it’s to joke about someone else. They’ll tell stories about this girl and that, but everyone knows that it’s bullshit. I doubt they ever give much thought to what it even means to like someone else, and if they do, they sure don’t talk about it. And you’ve been to boarding school sex education, any curiosity is deeply shamed and no one takes it seriously. I guess what I’m trying to say is that it’s less about sexuality itself, and just a vague fear of otherness. Like, anything that sets you apart from what’s manly or normal is just something to laugh about. And the whole experience is so foreign to them anyway.” 

 

He shrugged. “So I guess you and I are such a big deal because we’re not trying to be like everyone else, and no one knows what to do about it. Does that make sense?”

 

Ned squeezed his hand a little tighter. Anyone who thought that Conor Masters wasn’t articulate needed a swift reality check. It wasn’t like this was surprising; he wouldn’t want to be with someone who he thought was shallow in any way, but with each day, Conor revealed more of his inner thoughts. He didn’t say much at the best of times, but he was nothing if not thoughtful about everything, and Ned saw it clear as day. Instead of tuning out what he said like he was used to, Conor was taking in his words and saw the value of what he had to say. 

 

“It makes perfect sense.”

  
  


______________________________________________________________________________________________

  
  


They spent the rest of the afternoon exploring the cities, going into shops, and talking about pretty much everything. Ned kept finding himself blown away by how easy it was to talk to Conor, and realized that with classes, homework, rugby, and their friends, they rarely had the chance to talk so freely for so long. The conversation flowed naturally, but during quiet moments, they also felt comfortable enough to slip into silence and just enjoy each other’s company. Ned was also completely delighted whenever someone smiled at them as they passed by, and a small glimmer of hope was growing in his chest. It really was so easy to distance himself from not just the world at large, but areas that were just around the corner. Getting support from the friends he’d made was eye opening, and a life of freedom suddenly didn’t seem too far away. 

 

Ned had no regrets about spending what money his dad had given him for the first part of the year on this one, wonderful day. He even made Conor go with him to a store to pick out a real winter coat, because the sun had gone down so early, and he’d finally had enough of the freezing temperatures. He didn’t think that the other boy would care for shopping at all, but he actually kind of seemed...in his element as they browsed the store. Of course, Conor looked gorgeous everywhere (especially with his new haircut,) but seeing him in the soft lighting and numerous mirrors, surrounded by expensive clothing just really did something for Ned. Conor didn’t even complain when he pushed him into the dressing room to try on a few shirts, and by the time they were checking out, he had an indescribable contentment in his heart. He could definitely get used to this.

 

After all that running around, the boys were desperate for an early dinner. Their appetite called out to them through the joy of the day, and businesses would be closing soon. Combined hunger lead them to a small bistro at the end of a cobbled street, which looked nearly empty through the windows.

 

The bistro, called Mullins, was lined with small red tables and booths stretching towards the back, and the two seated themselves in the farthest corner, predictably. Soon after removing their coats, a waitress that couldn’t look more disinterested arrived at their table, with a red apron to match her nails. She raised an eyebrow at Conor when he ordered two beers to start off, but took down his request regardless. 

 

“That okay with you?” He asked Ned once she’d delivered their menus and walked away.

 

Ned smirked. “I’m not a saint, Conor; I’ll drink a beer with you. As long as you’re payin’ for ‘em.”

 

“Deal. So, have you ever actually gotten  _ drunk _ , Edwin?” Conor prodded with mischief in his eyes.

 

He shrugged. “Haven’t had anyone to get drunk with until very recently. And after seeing the tragedy that is our friends when they’re hungover, I don’t think I’m missing out on much.” Truthfully, he used to get drunk by himself a lot shortly after his dad left the house and abandoned his stash of liquor in the cabinet, but he didn’t want to talk about that. Those were dark times and he had no intention of reliving them any time soon.

 

They ordered off the menu and the food arrived blissfully fast, and they ate their meal while questioning how Victor could maintain alcoholism while taking advanced classes and being captain of the rugby team. It was a true mystery, unbeknownst to them all.

 

“I mean, on the spectrum of personal responsibility to complete loss of inhibition, he’s right in the middle, and is impressively persistent in both.” Ned mused about halfway through his beer.

 

With a table of empty plates in front of them, they’d ended up nestled in the corner of the booth next to each other. The food was amazing, and they were quietly enjoying the fullness in their bellies and of the company.

 

“So, what do you want for Christmas?” Conor asked leaning over the table, feeling so satisfied looking at the handsome boy next to him.

 

Ned gave long sigh. “Oh, I don’t know. Freedom? Sanity? Something to sleep on besides that prison mattress so I don’t get scoliosis by the time I’m twenty?”

 

Conor rolled his eyes. “I’ll see about that.”

 

“Not that I’m complaining, but you really don’t have to get me a Christmas present, since my birthday’s in February.” He hadn’t yet gotten used to the idea of receiving gifts this year.

 

“Doesn’t stop me wanting to.” 

 

Ned could’ve screamed with the way his heart lit up like a damn furnace. Trying his utmost to hide how his brain was short-circuiting, he turned his head and put a hand through his hair.  Honestly, he hardly thought about how it would feel to get a present that wasn’t a check in the mail, as much as those were appreciated. 

 

“You’re such a fuckin’ sap.” Was all he could think to say.  

 

Conor grinned at him like he’d just scored a point during a match. “No regrets here.”

 

About a half hour before, a small group of young men had sat down near the front of the diner, and Ned was able to peacefully ignore them. Their conversation and laughter had drowned out the silence, and he felt like they were able to talk without hushed voices. However, as he and Conor were feeling so warm and bubbly in their corner, Ned had caught them looking over at the two a few times, and couldn’t help but raise his awareness just a touch. 

 

Conor was facing away from them, his attention completely on his date, but after a while, followed his eyes and turned to look. One of the men made eye contact, but he couldn’t read them, and turned back around.

 

He took a swig of his beer and looked Ned directly in the eyes. “Don’t worry about it.” He assured  softly.

 

Ned wished it was that simple. Things had been fine for a while, but as soon as Conor turned away from them, all of them were suddenly looking their way and leaning their heads together. 

 

“I’m not so sure I shouldn’t.” The group seemed to be conversing with each other between their suspicious glances, and then he heard what he’d been dreading.

 

A simple, whispered,  _ fags _ .

 

Ned took a deep breath. He really wasn’t going to freak out too much; this was nothing compared to Woodhill, where he  _ lived, _ but Conor sensed the shift nonetheless.

 

He leaned back against the padded booth and drank the last of what was in the bottle. “Ned, everything’s fine. We paid ages ago, let’s get out of here.”

 

He didn’t have to be told twice. He stood up and grabbed his coat, trying to look as casual as possible. As he walked out of the bistro with Conor right behind him, he could feel the group’s eyes on their backs. The two stepped out into the freezing night air and Ned let the cold fill his lungs and clear his mind. 

 

Everything was fine.

 

Conor let Ned lead the way, apparently going wherever his legs would take them as he quickly rolled up a cigarette and lit it in record time. He knew that maybe it wasn’t exactly the right time, but to prove his point, he caught up to Ned and took his hand. Ned inhaled another long breath, and his nerves began to slip away. He was quiet for a while as they walked on, and it looked like they had really just gone in a circle through that part of town, because they ended up alongside the bars by the bay once again. 

 

Ned stopped and leaned on the rail, feeling wrapped up in the comforting darkness. The walkway was only lit up by the occasional streetlamp, and he didn’t want to feel as though he were in the spotlight for anyone else. Conor stood close beside him and put a hand between his shoulder blades.

 

“Hey, there’s nothing to worry about. That wasn’t even a situation, and there’s no one around right now. We’re safe.”

 

Ned turned and pressed against his chest, his arms finding their familiar spot around his middle. 

“I know, I’m good.” He pulled away slightly and looked at Conor. 

 

“Nothing could ruin this perfect day.”

 

Conor smiled and pulled him in once more. They held each other for a few more moments before he placed a kiss on Ned’s forehead. “I can’t believe how many people smiled at us today, Ned. It wasn’t a lot, but it’s more than I could ask for. Before I came out, I used to think that the world would hate me if I wasn’t who they wanted me to be. But now I think that there are more people than I thought who are actually okay, or just really don’t give a fuck. Today changed my mind. If that was the worst thing that could happen all day, I feel so lucky.”

 

He looked Ned so deeply in the eyes and said, “And I’ve had the best fucking day with you. You have no idea.”

 

Ned pulled him by his shirt into a kiss that said more than a thousand words. “I think I do, actually.”

 

Ned took Conor by the hand and continued to lead them on, suddenly alight with energy. “We just live in a bubble, don’t we? What if we could spend every day like this, not having to look over our shoulders all the damn time? God, one day we’ll be out of school, and I don’t think I’ve ever seriously thought that far ahead. And you’ll get to actually see California, a place where people give much less of a fuck. I wanna leave Ireland, Conor. I want to leave all this behind and be allowed to explore, ya know? I know I’m ranting again, but I feel like I could go a thousand miles a minute. I  _ really _ love writing; it’s the first thing that I’ve thought that I can pursue for real and I keep wondering how I never figured that out before. And you’re gonna be able to do whatever the hell you want in the real world, neither of us will have to deal with people’s shitty expectations.” Ned took a moment to breath for air, giving Conor a chance to speak if he wanted.

 

“Sherry told me a while back that things will get better, but I didn’t believe him at the time. But hanging out with our friends and having days like this? You and all that makes it feel possible.” He couldn’t help himself, he pulled Ned back by his hand and kissed him. God, he just wanted to hold him all the time. Maybe it would get embarrassing at some point. 

 

Ned sighed softly into his embrace. “You know, Conor, I used to think that good things would stop happening to me. But lately I feel so much more positive about everything.”

 

Conor took a deep breath and looked into his eyes. He guessed that this was the moment. “Ned, meeting you was the best thing that could’ve happened after everything at my last school. I used to be so fucking  _ scared _ of people finding out who I really am. And then you came and shook me up and I wouldn’t change a fucking thing. I don’t know, things are so crazy in a good way.” He spoke into Ned’s hair, before he couldn’t put it off any longer. He kissed him again, hoping that his actions would speak for him.

 

“So...do you want to be my boyfriend?” He breathed against his lips. 

 

Ned forgot how to breathe for a moment, but used his last intake of air in his lungs to laugh softly and say, 

 

“Abso-fucking-lutely.” 

  
  


_______________________________________________________________________________________________

  
  


Ned could have spend the rest of his life walking around the city with Conor that night, but they both had to realize that at some point, they would have to go back to school. Tomorrow was Monday, which seemed impossible, and Conor had practice at six o’clock sharp. They delayed as much as they dared on their walk back to the station, and were pleasantly surprised by how far they had strayed from it during the day. 

 

Embracing the warmth of the train, they climbed the stairs to the second level of the compartment, and made their way to the very back. There was virtually no one else in the train car, and they prolonged the feeling of being in their own little bubble for as long as they could before returning to campus. 

 

Ned wasn’t going to waste his time trying to act like they weren’t together on that empty floor in the night. They took off their coats and settled into the chairs, and if he’d been any closer to Conor, he would’ve been on top of him. The train slowly began to move out of the station, and though their time was limited, Ned was feeling like he could fly.

 

He leaned his head on Conor’s shoulder. “I swear, life would be so much better if the school was a least a  _ little _ closer to town. I wish we could go out on weeknights or something, cause I’m feeling like a whole new man.”

 

Conor hummed, his eyes closed and looking so relaxed. Ned realized that he must’ve been exhausted, and would probably feel the same if he wasn’t so impossibly happy. Conor opened his eyes and smiled at Ned. 

 

“Thanks for a perfect day.”

 

Ned kissed his cheek. “No problem.” 

 

Conor closed his eyes again and Ned decided to leave him alone for now, and would wake him up when they arrived at their station. He felt happier than he could ever remember being.

  
  


_______________________________________________________________________________________________

  
  


_ Hello, new journal. Hello, God. Hello to my  _ _ boyfriend. _ _ I’m never gonna get over that, I can already tell. He’s completely passed out next to me, and I’d probably be too if my brain could shut the fuck up for a second. I could never sleep on trains anyway.  _

 

_ There’s no way that God could be upset about any of this, because the way I’m feeling is heavenly. Never once did I consider that my life could get better before graduating, and there’s no other word to describe my good fortune other than fucking blessed. How did I go from looking down all the time, trying to avoid everyone and everything and all of my emotions to actually living a life in school? My whole world changed in an instant, and besides Conor, I feel like I only have God to blame.  _

_ Was this what she was talking about, when she talked about love? She loved being catholic so much, and maybe this is what she meant by feeling the ‘divine energy.’ Maybe she and God finally talked some shit out, and convinced him to give me some color in this black and white life. Thanks for watching over me.  _

 

_ I’m only gonna say this once, hopefully. I can’t believe that I’m dating the star of a rugby team. When I imagined the boyfriends I’d have later in life, I thought of...something else. Maybe I’ve never thought too hard about it actually, being so caught up in misery all the time. With him, I feel less like I’m in a cage all the time, and I can actually see a little bit of whatever’s out there. _

 

_ I want to travel. Feeling so locked up all the time makes me wish I could get on a train and never stop. I’ve never thought much about where I want to go one day, because the world is so huge and foreign that I don’t even know what to imagine. I don’t know the specifics of what I want, but I want to find out. I wish Conor and I could have more days like this, and I don’t think I’ll survive if we don’t make this kind of a regular thing. Maybe we could even go with the puppies sometime, I can’t imagine the kind of shit they’d get up to.  _

_ Damn, Conor’s my boyfriend! I have a group of friends, and a best friend who’s also my boyfriend? This could only be due to divine intervention. It would’ve been weird to call him that before today, it’d be so juvenile and I’m still learning what that even means. I’m regrettably excited to tell Darcy if Victor doesn’t tell him first. I’m pretty sure Victor got a chill up his spine or something as soon as Conor asked me, with his animal instincts for gay drama.  _

 

_ How lucky am I for Conor to have been my first crush, and first everything? It always seemed like things like that happened later in life. I wonder when Mr Sherry met Arthur. Did they know immediately? Does anyone?  _

 

_ I can’t even think about tomorrow. I’ve never been so present, and things won’t really be all that different. We’ll eat breakfast, go to class, Darcy and Wally will bicker, and we’ll watch afternoon practice. I’ll be wearing my new coat, and I’ll look out at the field and think, ‘that’s my boyfriend.’ Other than that, I’m okay with going back to the status quo.  _

 

_ Nothing could touch this feeling. Not Weasel, or Pascal, or my dad. Soon I’ll be going back to my house for the holiday, and I think I’ll be going back to God too. I hope he doesn’t expect me to go to confession or anything, though. He gifted me with homosexuality and a disdain for conformity, so I don’t think an ever-present feeling of guilt was his intention for humanity. Hopefully he sees that I’m really trying my best down here, and lets me have this feeling for a while longer.  _

 

_ I don’t believe in the devil, and the world is hellish enough, so there’s not a soul who could tell me that the way I feel about Conor is sinful, or something to run away from. Because the time I’ve spent with him and all that we’re learning is nothing if not the product of universal intent. _

  
  


_ ___________________________________________________________________________________________ _

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Damn, this one's almost 6k and I'm having so much fun! Happy spring equinox and the beginning of Aries season, hope ya'll are feeling that go-getter energy. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and please leave a comment if you did!


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taking a break from our main boys to learn about Weasel and why he's such an aggressor

Here’s the thing, Wesley wasn’t always such a piece of shit. Was he the nicest guy you’d ever meet? Definitely not, but the boy’s not made of stone or anything. He’d always been able to make a lot of friends, and considered himself to be a kind of social butterfly; he found comfort in the company of other people. He was passionate, fiery, and full of laughter.

 

And when his dad died that summer, suddenly all of that had disappeared. He was never the type to talk about anything that didn’t make him laugh, and when he came back to school in the fall, that didn’t change. Everything else changed, though.

 

William Miller was in charge of everything. His work, his home, his family; and Wesley grew up wanting to be just like him. His father wasn’t a mean or angry man, but he had this presence and resilience that no one could question. He loved his family as much as he loved his work, and he showed that love with a fierce dedication to both. When he signed Wesley up to play in their community’s youth rugby league when he was nine years old, his son rose to the occasion, eager to please.  

 

Wesley was never the type of person to half-ass anything, but under his father’s eye, he felt like he worked a hundred times harder than everyone around him. They rarely talked about anything other than how he could do better, and he lived his whole life feeling that pressure. There was always something to be fixed; his grades weren’t high enough, and he wasn’t spending as much time on his homework as rugby, which he still didn’t work hard enough in. His dad came to all of his matches, even with how often he worked. After every practice he would ask Wesley how he’d improved, and after every match, win or loss, he’d give a thorough run down of everything he did wrong. Weaknesses needed to be solved before strengths could be considered, and he raised both of his children that way. 

 

His brother, James, was four years younger, and their dad had been planning his future since before he could talk. While Wesley would be the famous rugby player, Jamie would grow up to take over his father’s business. William was the head of an engine manufacturing company, and success seemed to lurk in every corner of his life. He expected the same for his family without a speck of doubt, and ruled over his world like a king. They’d grown up accepting his father’s rules as religion, because money and power ensured protection over their family.

 

It was no secret that William had his mind on his family at all times, and like he took care of everything else, cared for their mother. Genevieve suffered from lupus, so she’d been in poor health all her life, and married a man that she knew could provide. They loved each other deeply, however, and the boys grew up seeing what true love looked like. She shared the same desire for success as her husband, but raised them with kind eyes and a firm, but gentle touch. 

 

They all lived in strict harmony in the house William had built for them, and then it all came crashing down around them. His death wasn’t exactly sudden, but a month earlier, none of them would have guessed that such a tower would fall. It seemed impossible for someone so powerful to surrender to something as human as blood clots, and they were fatefully unprepared. True to his nature, William had set enough money aside to ensure that his family could live without worry. 

 

Yet, how could they have prepared to watch such a strong force of nature cripple before their eyes? He was a man that acted like his will would live forever, and his family’s foundations had vanished before they could imagine what life without his reign would look like. His sons had never considered moving outside his barriers, and now it was like they were left in the middle of the ocean, with no direction. 

 

This gave their mother the most extreme of anxiety, and her health was falling rapidly. It wasn’t stress about providing for the home, but the man who had taken care of her for years was suddenly gone, and she had nowhere to turn. That summer would forever be the worst in Wesley’s life as he was forced to watch her decline. She had never been one to say much at all or voice any strong opinion, but she’d completely shut down. He spent the rest of the summer walking past her bedroom door, wondering if it would ever open again. 

 

Before he died, William gave his brother the task of taking care of her and he’d moved in immediately, taking up almost as much space. Robert left the boys alone for the most part, and didn’t have any interest in attempting to control his nephew’s lives after he made his presence known. He and the boys weren’t close, as he was living in Berlin, and the appearance of someone who was basically a stranger in the house made Wesley bristle. He didn’t have any idea of what kind of a person he was before, but after seeing the look in his eyes when he looked at his mother, it hadn’t been hard to figure out. 

 

Robert spent most of his time in Genevieve’s room, and Wesley thought he’d been hearing ghosts whispering through the door whenever he walked by. His uncle didn’t try to prod her to come out of hiding, and his presence felt like a shadow looming over that part of the house. Wesley didn’t want to know, and kept Jamie out of that hallway whenever he could.

 

James was only twelve, and was growing up to be just as strong. He was the quieter of the two brothers, but was far more perceptive. He mostly listened and did what he was told outside of his brother’s antics, but Wesley felt like he was always watching, and when their father was dying, he just wanted to cover his eyes. The look on his face when William was on his deathbed, in the casket, and when Robert put his hands on the small of their mother’s back was devastating. He wished he could shield Jamie from the whole thing, but had no idea how to protect him from all this grief.

 

How could he control any of this? Life was suddenly so temporary and change was happening all around him, but he never had any say in the first place. His mother might as well have died too, and now they had this extra entity in their house whose intentions were so insidious. Wesley thought that his father must have expected him to become head of the family some day, but now his existence was irrelevant. He had no power, and no way to protect his family from unexpected change.

 

Strength was the doctrine for the Millers, and Wesley realized that he had none after all. This powerlessness had been tumbling around inside of him all summer, and he decided that he never wanted to feel this way again. He wished he could bring control back into his life, rebuild the walls he grew up in. Witnessing how his mother was useless against the whims of his uncle, and how she depended on someone her entire life made him feel so angry, and he decided to never feel that way. No one would ever take advantage of him like that, and he would never be weakened. He wanted the strength to be a force for her and Jamie, so that one day he could save them from the unpredictability of life. 

 

The last thing that his father told him to do was to take his school’s rugby team to championships, and he was going to have the strength to do that. 

 

So, no, Wesley hadn’t always been a piece of shit, but God forbid he let anything stop him from taking control of his life. He returned to Woodhill College in the fall with a determination that only William could have, fueled by anger that never seemed to die down. Anger that he thought would’ve calmed as time passed, but after all that shit with Conor and the team? The fire in his chest kept burning. He had so much will, why was that not enough to be the best? He gave one hundred and fifty percent of his energy every single day, and yet, a new kid, a queer no less, came around and continued to show him up. And everyone just acted like that was fine! Wesley had been playing on that team for far longer, and his drive to win somehow wasn’t enough to prove that he should be the one to lead the team.

 

Rugby had always been exciting for him; he lived for competition and victory, and had been eager to play on the team as soon as school started. He hoped that it would relieve all this pent up energy, but it only proved to stoke the fire, and the flames grew even higher. Everything that he loved about the game had been taken over by someone else, and he craved to regain control. Conor had upstaged him in every way and had the gall to look that happy doing it. He was hanging out with  _ Wesley’s _ friends, playing  _ Wesley’s _ game, and this made him fucking furious. Why did other people get to be so happy when he had just lost every semblance of structure he’d ever known? Conor had removed everything he loved about school, even his favorite student to bully.

 

Truth be told, he never had anything against Ned Roche. His father told him that in the world, there were people who made the rules, and those that followed them. There was nothing about Ned that Wesley had a vengeance against, he was just his favorite toy, and happened to stand out more than most. He gave him so much material to work with, how could he resist? He never claimed to be a saint, after all. But no, suddenly Ned had protection, and Wesley couldn’t touch him. Another thing he had lost control of.

 

And then there was Victor. He was probably the only other person he looked up to besides his father, and now he was off limits too. Victor was everything Wesley wanted to be; athletic, smart, handsome, and captain of the rugby team for two years in a row. He was friends with  _ everyone _ , and it was clear he had a bright future ahead of him. As he got to know him, Victor reminded him of Jamie, in a way. He had a kindness that he didn’t really try to hide, and was just as observant. Wesley didn’t talk about his feelings with anyone, but with Victor he felt like he didn’t really have to. He knew Victor was too nice of a guy to hang out with someone like him, but he did it anyway. He saw through his bullshit, and it made him feel visible, even though he always put himself in the spotlight. 

 

Someone he thought was one of his best friends fucking ditched him, and it had been Conor’s doing. That guy just kept taking things away from him, and that feeling of vulnerability continued to swell in his chest. He couldn’t seem to keep  _ anyone _ in his life, and every day he woke up even angrier. He had his breaking points; crushing Conor’s nose after the practice match was one of them, and it only gave him a split second of relief. He had nowhere to throw all of this energy into, and he didn’t know how much longer he could take it. Seeing that whole group hang out filled him with this uncontrollable anger, and seeing Ned and Darcy in the stands during practice only made things worse. Ned was absolutely not permitted to enter his world, and Darcy had the balls to watch practice so soon after quitting the team? 

 

He’d never been the type to talk about his feelings, true, but he could think of nothing better to do than confront Victor about it one Sunday. An impulse decision to be sure; he didn’t plan anything, and this time was no different as he caught the blond walking out of his dorm in the afternoon. 

 

He jogged to catch up him. “Oi! Victor, wait up!”

 

Victor stopped in his tracks at the call and turned to look at him. He didn’t appear to be incredibly pleased to see him. “What’s up, Weasel?”

 

Wesley looked up at him as he approached. Damn, this kid was tall. “I just wanted to say hey, man. Never see ya around anymore, you know?”

 

“Yeah, I know.” Victor said simply. He guessed there was no beating around the bush, as usual.

 

“Why not? You and I used to be buddies, am I wrong?” He had the urge to say, ‘until you started hanging out with Conor and the rest of them,’ but he ignored it.

 

Victor shrugged and looked him in the eye. “It’s because you suck, Weasel.”

 

This hit Wesley hard, and he felt the flames rising in his stomach again. Was he really going to be that upfront about it? Doing his best to fight this feeling he said, “No more than usual, mate. What, you find someone better to hang out with?”

 

Victor rolled his eyes and began to walk away. “Yeah, actually. I don’t have to explain it to you, man, you already know.” And with that, he strode off, leaving Wesley alone and burning up.  

 

Did Victor think that he could just excuse himself from his life like that? That wasn’t fair, and Wesley didn’t even know why. He at least deserved to know what the final straw of his personality was that made his friend decide to leave him hanging. Moving with blind anger, his feet carried him to the back of the dorm and against the brick wall, where he punched the stone as hard as he could until he couldn’t keep his bloody fist closed.

 

The day the hospital called his mother to inform him that his father had been hospitalized was the moment that he lost all control, and he didn’t know how to get it back. His hold on his life just kept slipping away, and what was he supposed to do? What would his dad want him to do? He would say that Wesley didn’t need anyone else to be successful, that he already had that power inside of him. He’d want him to be the best at just one thing, but how could he achieve that? He couldn’t push away his feelings of helplessness as he fell asleep that night, wondering how he could change anything.

 

 

________________________________________________________________________________________________

 

 

Nothing was different the next day as everyone talked about their plans for the winter holiday. He felt like he was the only person who wasn’t excited for the break from school after the midterm. He was more anxious about going home than anything. He’d left his brother alone in that haunted house, and couldn’t imagine how lonely he must have been feeling. He wanted to go back to be there for him in some way, but felt the ominous shadow of his uncle and their first Christmas without their father. He didn’t even want to think about Christmas. 

 

Wesley could only search for answers in his mind, trying to figure out how on Earth he could survive two weeks in that house with his broken family. He felt so isolated surrounded by his classmates, none of them knowing about the growing dread in his heart as the days slowly moved on. All he could think about was control, the word obsessively pounding through his head. He had none, and his anger was threatening to spill out of him at any moment, and what could he do?

 

So when he was strolling down the halls in his usual group after chemistry and saw Victor, Wally, and Ned walking his way with stupid grins on their faces, there was nothing he could do. He had no restraint, and his body moved without permission. He wasn’t present, and likely wouldn’t even remember throwing Victor onto the floor before slamming Ned’s head into the wall. He just wanted to let everything go, to throw away his anger and his fears, but no one had taught him how to do that. 

 

Everything happened all at once. The hallway erupted into shock, and Victor had gotten back up immediately, grabbing Wesley by the collar and throwing him off with impressive strength. He saw Wally pulling Ned up from where he’d fallen before Victor got a handful of his shirt and threw him into the nearest classroom. The room was empty, and Victor slammed the door behind him and looked at him with a fierceness in his eyes he’d never seen before.

 

“This? This is why I’m fuckin’ done with you, Weasel. You were always an asshole, but this is a new level.”

 

Wesley didn’t think; he was in fight or flight and lunged at Victor without hesitation. Victor was ready though, and shoved him into a desk before he had the chance to lay a hand on him. 

 

“No, you’re gonna listen to me.” He leaned in until was an inch away from Wesley’s face. “I know that shit sucks for you right now, but this is fucking unacceptable! I’m not friends with you because you’re a bad person, and everybody knows it. You’re acting crazy, and you need to get a handle on yourself. You can’t control everyone and that fucking sucks, but you gotta learn how to deal with it, because I won’t stand for this shit.”

 

Victor put a firm hand on his chest and kept him in place, his eyes looking like murder. “Look, I’m sorry your dad died. But those guys are my friends and I’m not gonna let this happen. You need to get your shit together, or else things are going to get a whole lot worse. They’re not gonna get any better unless you let it go, and I’m out of patience.” He gave Wesley a final push and walked out the door without giving him a chance to explain himself. He didn’t know what he’d say anyway.

 

He left the room after a moment, ignoring the looks his peers were giving him and strode to his dorm, deciding to ditch the rest of the day’s classes. He couldn’t come up with a reason why he lashed out like that other than his blind fury, and for the first time felt the weight of who he was becoming. He didn’t have Victor to keep him in check anymore, and he felt like he was losing himself in all of his rage. It was consuming him and he didn’t know how to let go. He didn’t know why everything made him so angry, he just wanted it to stop. 

 

He lost control, and he had no clue how he was going to get it back. He reached his room without even realizing it and fell onto his bed. He’d never let himself feel guilty about his actions, always being able to justify them, but the way Victor looked at him, he felt regret creeping up his spine. He didn’t give a fuck about Ned, or Conor, or any of them; he never did. 

 

He cared about his dad. His mother, his brother, and everything he’d lost. His life had shattered right before his eyes, and he was powerless in everything he did. He felt like the weight of the world was on his shoulders, and it was crushing him. He always thought if he could be the best at something,  _ anything _ , his life would be better. If he could continue to try to be a person his father would’ve been proud of, maybe things could change. But he was running out of energy when the world seemed to be against him. He fought all the time, but he couldn’t push anymore. It felt like he was running into a wall, one that would never fall with his determination alone. 

 

Maybe there was nothing he could do, so nothing needed to be done. Maybe he just had to accept what his life had become, and there would be nothing to push against. His dad was dead, his mum had fallen apart, and he couldn’t protect his only sibling. 

 

Victor said to his face that he was a bad person, and he’d never considered that thought before. Was he really as malicious as he made it sound? He’d never  _ wanted _ to hurt anyone, but he hadn’t ever considered the feelings of others, and he never cared. Until the loss of his father, he didn’t feel the need to care for anyone because everything was already taken care of. He loved his family, but this was the first time he understood his father’s need to protect them, and it was pressing against his chest until he couldn’t breathe. 

 

He lay on his mattress with an arm over his eyes and thought that maybe the only thing to do was to simply give up. To fall into the depths of his grief just like his mother, and let regret swallow him whole. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been wanting to write a Wesley-centric chapter since I started this fic, so enjoy this look into the worst guy at school. I thought it was super interesting to write about a character who hasn't had to care about anyone in his life and how change would affect him, and I'm super glad the movie gave us a clue into his personal life.
> 
> Leave a comment and thanks for sticking with me!


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of Wesley's bullshit from the perspective of our boys! And some other stuff, surely.

_ Poor Conor. We didn’t get back too terribly late last night, and I’m glad he slept through the  _ _ entire _ _ train ride, but that boy is definitely feeling it today. Suppose that’s what he gets for keeping such a responsible sleep schedule. Honestly though, I can’t make myself feel too bad about it. I see you, Conor, you look just as heavenly as I feel. He’s been sneaking sleepy glances at me all day. It’s his fault he’s so tired; he’s too diligent to skip morning practice to sleep in. I, on the other hand, slept better than I have in ages. _

 

_ And then there’s Victor, who kept looking between the both of us all throughout breakfast. What does he expect, for us to announce our engagement? He’ll be the first to know IF that happens, but I fully intend to hit him in some way before then. I can’t believe they all convinced me to eat almost every meal with them in the dining hall; I haven’t done that since the first day of my first year.  _

  
  


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Another day, another afternoon in the bleachers with Darcy during afternoon practice. After the previous,  _ wonderful, _ day, Ned half expected for something drastic to have changed while they were away; like Walter announcing the cancellation of midterms or replacing the grass on the field to asphalt or something. Things were as average as ever, though, and Ned woke up to find that Conor had already left for morning practice, with their secret simmering in his chest. No one would know, and he skimmed through the day with a quiet excitement that was his and his alone.

  
  


Ned and Darcy had reluctantly brought their studying to the bleachers, and Ned was continuously impressed by how motivated the other boy was in his classes.

 

“I swear, Darce, your chemistry notes are going to get me through to graduation.” Ned murmured with his nose nearly to the textbook in his lap. 

 

Darcy grinned proudly from his seat on the bench above him. “My note taking skills are also the only reason Wally hasn’t been expelled already. I’m  _ this _ close to getting into advanced classes, now that I can actually focus on homework.” 

 

They were quiet for a few minutes more, looking up occasionally at the sound of the whistle or an especially loud crash of bodies on the field. 

 

Darcy spoke again. “I can’t take the suspense anymore, Ned; I have to ask. How did yesterday go?”

 

Ned gave him a look over his shoulder. Darcy smiled and shrugged. “What? It was all I could do to keep Victor from asking in the dining hall; I didn’t want to put you on the spot.”

 

Ned rolled his eyes- it was only a matter of time, after all. He told his friend about the events of the previous day, and realized how mundane it all sounded. His life-changing day had actually been mostly walking around and enjoying each other’s company, but he’d spent the day feeling like he’d crossed some kind of milestone in his life. 

 

“So it was actually kind of uneventful,” He finished his recollection and looked up at Darcy. “Save for the guys at dinner.”

 

Darcy narrowed his brown eyes at him expectantly. “And…?” 

 

Ned sighed; he should have known that he expected some kind of shift in their relationship. He looked away, doing his best not to blush too much. He lowered his voice to a whisper, “And...I guess you could say that we’re...boyfriends.” Ned looked around at the bleachers, wary of any listeners that might be close by. He couldn’t help the giddy feeling that had been sleeping in his stomach since the last night’s train ride, however. 

 

Darcy grinned and to Ned’s embarrassment, gave a single cheer that echoed around the stands, gathering the attention of a couple players below them. 

 

Darcy put his hands up defensively at the look on Ned’s face. “That’s all I have to say.”

 

“What, no bets on my private life this time?”

 

Darcy opened his mouth in mock offense. “Please, I have better things to do. Besides, Victor already bet me fifty pounds that I couldn’t get Wally through end of term exams, and I’m gonna prove him wrong if it kills me.”

 

Ned chuckled and returned his eyes to the notes he was copying down. “Anyway, have you found anything else to get involved in after rugby?”

 

The dark haired boy heaved a great sigh and leaned back against the bench behind him. “Not a damn thing. I thought about going into theater, but what’s the point when it’s an all boys group that only ever does Shakespeare? Everybody’s so tense about this  _ one thing _ that there’s no space to explore something else.”

 

Ned scoffed. “Tell me about it, it’s basically a cardinal sin to talk about anything besides rugby. How’d you get into it in the first place?”

 

“Well, I went through a bit of a rugby phase in primary school, so my mum sent me here. I wouldn’t mind sticking around if Woodhill would focus on literally  _ anything _ else. But I have enough on my plate with midterms and trying to convince Mr White that I’m far beyond anything he’s been teaching us.” He gave another sigh. “Maybe I’ll sign up for swimming in spring…”

 

Ned smirked. “We’ve spent enough time at the pool to be honorary members by now, anyway. Besides, as far as I know, the swim team seems to be more for fun than religious practice, so you might enjoy it.”

 

Darcy nodded thoughtfully before looking back at his textbook. “Either way, I’ve got two more years to figure it out and you lot to deal with, so I’m definitely not getting bored any time soon.”

  
  


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_ Is it possible that Conor’s getting even more toned all the time? I’d think he was on steroids or something if I didn’t witness his continuous work out routine. I swear, I want to have a heart attack just looking at him, but that might be due to more than his love of exercise.   _

 

_ Meanwhile, I wish my hair didn’t grow so fucking fast; my roots are already growing in, and blond hair with brown roots looks just atrocious. _

  
  


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Ned spent the next day’s afternoon practice lurking around the school in search for a new place for the group to hang out. Maybe in some other time long ago, the school had been less exclusive about their admissions, because it seemed like the campus itself was designed for a larger student body than what they currently had. His last private spot  _ used _ to be the tiny room below the stage, but it had become clear that that was no longer his sacred space if a teacher knew where to find them. 

 

He decided to turn his focus upward towards the roof of the building where a few classes were held instead of searching for a sub-level space. After lurking around the halls and being appropriately wary of any passerby, Ned found himself outside of what looked to be an unused classroom, tucked away at the farthest end of the hallway on the top floor. As soon as he made his way skillfully through the door, he knew this would be the perfect spot.

 

The classroom was so hidden away that Ned almost regretted not finding this place sooner, but the fact that this area was new territory for him meant that if no one else gave this area any attention, he really was the master of student body evasion. It’d been worth it to miss dinner, as Ned spent the hour making the room hospitable for them all, moving boxes into corners and clearing off desks. After dinner had long been over, he dragged the group up the stairs and proudly displayed their new headquarters.

 

The puppies made themselves at home immediately. Victor seated himself on one of the two teacher’s desks like he already owned the place, and cleared his throat dramatically as they all settled in.

 

“Thanks to Edwin, and we don’t have to freeze our asses off this winter, now that it’s December, I can finally announce that we are doing a Secret Santa exchange!” He proclaimed as though he’d told them all about the birth of his first child. 

 

His friends were admittedly less enthused than he was. Wally just shrugged from his place below the window and said, “It’ll be easier than trying to get all of you guys a present, so I’m in.”

 

“Can’t my collective present to all of you be the gift of this room? It took me an hour and two hair clips to pick the damn lock.” Ned was propped against the other large desk close to Conor, making his heart flutter through his sarcasm.

 

Darcy was on his knees looking through one of the dust ridden boxes lining the room. “That’s fine with me as long as I don’t get Wally. With everything I do for him on a daily basis, he basically owes me his life by now.” He sneezed, causing dust to fly into the air.

 

Wally unceremoniously tipped a small box of pens over, spilling them on the floor; making Darcy roll his eyes, and tossed the empty box over to Victor. “Can I owe you  _ after _ my birthday?”

 

Victor took the cue to use the box for a name pool and began to write their names on little slips of paper when Conor spoke up. “I didn’t know your birthday was coming up, Wally.”

 

Wally simply shrugged again, fiddling with one of the pens between his fingers. “I grew up in a  _ huge _ family, so birthdays were never really a big deal, especially with mine being so close to Christmas. So feel free to lump those presents together, as much as I know you want to  _ shower _ me with affection.”

 

“Do we even have to ask what you wanna do for your birthday?” Victor asked, mixing their names in the box with a thorough rattle, a smirk on his face.

 

“I’m a simple man, Victor. Nothing would bring me greater joy than to get drunk and piss off Darcy one last time before holiday.”

 

Darcy didn’t even look up, still rummaging around forgotten boxes. “That’s fine with me, Wallace, just keep in mind that I don’t know CPR.”

 

Victor smiled and walked around the room, shoving the name pool under the other boy’s noses for them to draw a slip. “Perfect! We can do the gift exchange on your birthday. I’m also available for gift consultation, since I know all of you like the back of my hand, anyway.”

 

The boys spent the rest of the evening discussing holiday plans, and Ned complaining that Victor was going to show them all up with what was undoubtedly going to be the perfect gift for whomever he pulled. He was grateful that none of his friends commented on his and Conor’s new relationship status, or the closeness they maintained throughout the night. He couldn’t help but smile to himself from time to time, reveling in how utterly  _ normal _ everything was, and that his idea of ‘normal’ had changed so much since the beginning of the year. Normal used to mean keeping his head down as much as possible, waiting for the moments he could be alone and out of school. Now, he discovered, normal had become spending his days in the company of those he never would have thought to become his best friends. He didn’t think he’d ever been so happy to be in the presence of others, or so giddy within the walls of Woodhill College.

  
  


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_ I can’t help thinking that Mr Sherry knows about me and Conor, not that I would be worried if he did. I’ve really been focusing on paying attention in class now that I can’t plagiarize old music in my essays, but lately I catch him giving me and Conor knowing looks from the front of the room. Jesus, Conor, could you be more obvious? I keep catching him looking at me in the corner of my eye during class, not that I’m complaining all that much. But he should really try harder to listen to what’s going on right in front of him, because I definitely won’t tutor him. _

 

_ And what the hell am I supposed to get Wally for Christmas? I want to make it kind of special since it’s also his 17th. I know full well what it’s like to not have your birthday celebrated, and I want to show the puppies how much I appreciate their friendship. But that guy is such a mixed bag, I have no idea what to get him. I realized that as much as he talks, he never really talks about himself. I didn’t have a clue that he comes from a large family, and suddenly there’s a lot that I don’t know about him. How many siblings does he have? Where does he want to go to University? What were his thoughts on homosexuality before hanging out with me and Conor? Darcy would probably know; I’d ask Wally myself if there was ever a moment that he wasn’t joking around. _

 

_ It’s obvious that I’m getting Conor a present regardless of ‘Secret Santa.’ I want to make it really special, and I know he’s not really the type to care about material things. I just have to figure out how I’m going to express the myriad of ways he’s bettered my life since we met in so few words. I could honestly write a novel about all the ways he makes me feel. _

  
  


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It was Thursday, and Ned was praying for midterms to come and go so that Wally would just stop talking about it already. The two were trudging out of geometry and the boy was nearly crying with exasperation as he slouched out the doorway, his bag slung over his shoulder.

 

“I swear to God, I’m never using geometry in any way after graduation. Nor am I ever speaking to Darcy again, he’s fucking  _ drilling _ me with his notes. I don’t get why he cares so much about my grades in the first place, what’s it to him if I fail exams?”

 

Ned smirked, deciding not to tell his friend about Darcy’s wager with Victor, when Victor himself turned the corner and spotted them. 

 

“You two are looking terribly strained this afternoon.” He said, the smile on his face betraying any sense of sympathy.

 

“I’m only strained because Wallace won’t shut up about geometry homework.”

 

Victor leaned over to look at the boy in question as they walked the hall side by side by side. He replied, the grin never leaving his face, “Maybe your secret santa will give you a few extra brain cells for Christmas, Wally.”

 

Wally looked positively affronted and gaped at Victor like a fish before Ned said, “Is it just me, or are you way too hyped about Secret Santa? The UK is obsessed with Christmas enough already, but this seems excessive.”

 

The taller boy moved his eyes to Ned, undeterred. “I’m a  _ giver, _ Ned, and I refuse to let your reclusivity put a damper on my Christmas.”

 

Before any of them had a chance to react, Ned only caught a glimpse of an approaching figure before his head was smashed into the solid wall next to him. Stars flashed in his eyes and a sudden force pressed against the side of his face before it was pulled off of him. Any and all thought left his brain, as it felt like someone had taken a hammer to the side of his head. He didn’t know what was going on so suddenly, and hadn’t had a moment to process what happened as he opened his eyes. His vision was swimming, darkening around the corners and he partially glimpsed Victor throwing none other than Weasel into the room in front of him. 

 

He realized he was kneeling on the floor, and struggled to register anything other than the throbbing pain in his right temple. He felt a tug under his arm, pulling him to his feet and supporting his weight. He didn’t want to stand or think, he just wanted the pain in his head to subside and the hallway to stop spinning. Wally said something that he couldn’t hear, and grabbed Ned’s bag with one arm, guiding him out of the hallway.

  
  


Ned just wanted to go back to his room, and Wally seemed to pick up on that, because through his blurry vision, that’s exactly where they ended up. Ned sat down on his bed as his friend threw his bag to the side before kneeling in front of him, looking directly into his eyes.

 

After a moment, Wally spoke up, concern written all over his face. “It doesn’t look like you have a concussion, but you might want to go to the hospital just in case.”

 

Ned forced a smirk. “And what do you know about head injuries?”

 

“I have seven siblings, I know what a concussion looks like.” Wally said, rolling his eyes. 

 

“Well, I’m not going anywhere, I really just want to lie down for a while.”

 

Wally stood up and moved to sit on Conor’s bed. “I can stay with you. You  _ really _ shouldn’t fall asleep, just in case I’m wrong and it’s worse than I think.”

 

Ned leaned against the wall and narrowed his eyes. “Not a chance. You’re going back to class or else Darcy’ll have my head.” Honestly, he just wanted to be alone for a while to pick apart the thoughts swimming in his aching mind.

 

“I think he’d understand the situation.” Wally stood up after a couple minutes, however. “Seriously though, don’t fall asleep. I’ll send Darcy to check in on you after classes, maybe he can get you some pain killers or something.” He grabbed his own bag off the floor and turned to smile at Ned before leaving him alone with his thoughts, shutting the door behind him.

  
  


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_ Fuck, that hurt a lot. I’m not even gonna try to guess what Weasel’s fucking problem is, I was enjoying myself too much to notice that he was even there. I’m probably gonna have a headache for the next month, and I only want to sleep cause I’m tired of this shit.  _

_ Who knew that Wally has seven siblings? I guess it makes sense; that kid never seems to run out of energy.  _

 

_ How do I keep myself awake? I wonder what Conor’s going to say. I hope he isn’t too pissed off, because I’m honestly glad it was me and not him this time, and this isn’t even that bad. Way better than a broken nose, that’s for sure. That poor boy’s nose might never look the same. He’s still pretty, though. I hope he doesn’t go after Weasel, as much as he deserves it. I just wish he was here. _

_ I wonder what Victor did after he got Weasel out of there. _

  
  


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Precisely five minutes after the final bell could be heard around campus (which was torture to Ned’s head, by the way,) Darcy opened the door to his room. Ned had thankfully managed to keep himself awake during his time alone, and hadn’t bothered to look surprised at the intrusion. 

 

Darcy walked in and placed his bag on the chair, his eyes on Ned the whole time. He opened his mouth, but Ned cut him off, looking to diffuse any kind of tension.

 

“Before you ask, I’m completely fine, Darcy.” Ned hadn’t moved from his bed, but his headache had begun to subside slightly.

 

Darcy closed the door and sat on his bed, looking at Ned with a hint of suspicion before saying, “I believe you. How’s your head?”

 

The other boy shrugged, moving about an inch. “Probably nothing compared to all of the shit that rugby players go through. Hurts a little, but Wally gave his seal of approval.”

 

Darcy chuckled. “If anyone knows anything about injuries, it’s that guy. Do you want to go outside for a bit? Might do ya’ good to get some fresh air, and we can stay well away from the field. I’m not in the mood to freeze in the bleachers anyway.” 

 

Ned didn’t have the energy to protest and stood up to grab his coat, following Darcy out of the dormitory into the chilly December air. The day was just as grey as the previous one and as bleak as the next day would surely be. They talked about nothing in particular as Darcy led them down the familiar path to the pool, and Ned was grateful to sit against the little building that was the locker room.

 

Even though he knew his injury hadn’t been severe, the seed of doubt that had been planted in his chest for what seemed like forever had reminded him of its presence. How many times was something like this going to happen, and why was it so  _ okay _ with the rest of the world? At what moment had he accepted such regular violence in his life? Just like when Weasel had broken Conor’s nose, life continued on, aggression taking up space in his days and no one gave it a second glance. Part of him wanted to brush off the attack, to resist its effects on his life so things could continue as  _ normal _ , but another part of him wanted to push back on what society considered acceptable behavior. Why should he sit back and let these things happen to him and Conor, when they were doing absolutely nothing wrong?

 

Ned looked up at the grey clouds rolling through the sky, wondering if he should continue to take the path of least resistance, and keep his head down.

 

“So did Wally tell you what happened? Cause I don’t remember most of it, to be honest.”

 

He saw Darcy look at him through the corner of his eye before he answered. “Well, apparently Weasel just came at you guys outta nowhere. Then Victor threw him into a room and must’ve had some kind of word with him, and I haven’t seen him.”

 

Ned continued his gaze upward. “I wonder if it’ll make any difference. I’m glad it wasn’t worse, but I’m so tired of it all, Darce. If we lived in a civilized society, he would’ve been thrown off the team ages ago.”

 

“I hear that. But you know Victor, if Weasel’s gonna listen to anyone, it’ll be him. And hey,” Ned finally looked over at him to meet his eyes, full of sincerity. “I don’t know that much about Wesley, but guys like him aren’t the norm, not these days. Assholes like him and Pascal don’t have anything real that they care about, and you’ll find more friends than enemies in real life.”

 

Ned thought about all the people he and Conor had passed on their day out, whether they had shown their silent support or simply ignored them, and found it within himself to believe this. If the world had really been full of Wesleys and Pascals, they wouldn’t have made it back to school in one piece. Maybe he and Conor would go out into the world and find that violence wasn’t the norm after all, and they could live their lives in a peace that he had only ever dreamt of. Exhausted from his thoughts and the ache in his head, he let himself lean on Darcy, and watched his breath vaporize in the brisk air.

 

“After meeting guys like you, Victor, and Wally, I believe it.”

  
  


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_ Not to be a complete sap or anything, but as much as I dream of leaving this place, I wish I could keep moments with my friends like this forever. I’m trying not to be too pessimistic by dreading the moment when we don’t have this anymore and focus on the present. Just appreciate that I have people who care about me without worrying about the time that it all ends. I don’t know what it’s like to have lifelong friends, but I hope it feels a lot like this. _

  
  


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Victor and Wally had strategically told Conor what happened after practice to avoid any dangerous encounters before dinner. Which had been a smart decision, as Conor had felt the old flames of rage build in his chest as soon as his friends cornered him with the news. He didn’t really consider himself an angry person, but he was glad for Wesley’s sake that he was nowhere in sight, because in that moment, he could’ve fucking snapped his arm. 

 

His irritation didn’t subside all throughout dinner, and was still very much prevalent when the group settled into the upstairs classroom afterwards. He and Ned were settled on the floor against a desk, Ned leaning against him in apparent exhaustion. If anything could break through his disdain for Weasel, it was the comfort of his boyfriend’s weight on his side, and the freedom he felt with their friends.

 

“How ya’ feelin’ Ned?” Victor asked from his perch on another desk, the look of concern evident on his face.

 

Ned gave a half-hearted shrug. “Other than the headache, I’m just fine.” 

 

Conor looked down at him suspiciously. He’d asked him about a hundred times before, but he couldn’t keep himself from repeating, “You sure you don’t wanna get your head checked out?”

 

Ned just groaned in exasperation and replied, “Yes, Conor, I’m sure. And if you ask me one more time, I’m gonna kick you. Haven’t decided where yet, but don’t test me.”

 

This garnered a laugh from Wally, who said, “Don’t worry, Conor, he’ll be fine. We’d know by now if he had a concussion.”

 

Victor didn’t look completely at ease, however. “I’m sorry Ned, I should’a saw him coming. I made it loud and clear that he’s not fucking with either of you anymore, and I pray to God that I finally got through to him. He didn’t even show up to practice today, and that’s never happened before.”

 

Ned simply sighed, and somehow leaned even more into Conor’s shoulder. “I’m over it, honestly.”

 

Whether this was true or not, Conor certainly wasn’t over it. He let the others slip into conversation as usual, his mind on Ned and wishing he had been there when it happened. As much as he wanted to find Weasel and prove Victor’s point, he also knew that that was probably the last thing that Ned wanted. Even so, when he saw Weasel the next morning, how would he react? How would his body react? He didn’t want to get himself into another fight, but he didn’t know how much he’d be able to control it. 

 

As Conor was diving further into his thoughts, he hardly noticed that Ned had just about fallen asleep against him amidst the other boy’s bickering, and knew that it was time for them to take their leave. He gently prodded him awake, Ned looking surprised that he’d fallen asleep in the first place, but seemed too tired to care. They said their goodbyes and made their way down the stairs and to their dorm, Conor once again getting lost in the whirlwind of his mind.

 

When they finally reached their shared room, Ned fell onto his bed, not even bothering to undress, and not for the first time since Conor met him. How did he manage to fall asleep fully clothed so often? Conor locked the door behind him and followed his instinctual desire to be close to Ned, and kneeled beside his bed, resting his chin against the mattress.

 

Ned looked at him with sleepy eyes and rolled over on his side to face him. “You’ve been quiet all night, what’s goin’ on?”

 

Conor just looked at him. “You know what’s going on, I’m pissed. I don’t even want to think about what I would’ve done if I’d been there. When he’s fighting me, sure, whatever, but why’s it gotta be you? And when I’m not even around to do anything about it?”

 

Ned raised an eyebrow and smirked. “What, you think I can’t take him on?”

 

“You know that’s not what I mean, Ned.” 

 

A look of seriousness washed over the other boy’s face and he sat up, looking down directly into Conor’s eyes. “Hey, I’m glad you weren’t there; I wouldn’t have wanted it to get any worse than it already was, and I’m  _ fine, _ Conor.”

 

Conor gazed back up at him. “I know you are, I just wish we were actually safe here. I wish I could keep  _ you _ safe. The beef that Weasel and I have is just between us, and I don’t want you gettin’ involved in any of it. I feel so powerless, and no one’s gonna do anything about it. I just wish things were different.”

 

Ned leaned down, nearly at eye level with him. “Trust me, Weasel’s been my arch nemesis since the beginning of time, basically. I’ve dealt with him long before you showed up and before I had anyone on my side, so I can handle him, really. Besides, I’ve got three burly dudes watching my back now, thanks to you, so I’m safer than ever. And if we hadn’t gone on that trip, I’d be handling things a whole lot differently; it completely changed my perspective. And listen,” He lifted Conor’s chin, prodding him to sit up. “I don’t regret anything that’s happened, none of it. Yeah, I’m a little nervous now, but Conor, you make me feel invincible. You’ve helped me see that there are people to look out for, and people who will look out for me.”

 

Conor couldn’t help but smile at this, and he moved to press his forehead against Ned’s. He jumped back immediately, however, when the other boy gave an involuntary wince at the pressure.

 

“Okay, I’ll only ask one more time. You sure you don’t want to go to the nurse? At least to get some pain killers or something?”

 

Ned chuckled and shook his head. “I promise, all I want to do is get some sleep. I’m sure I’ll be in tip top shape tomorrow.”

 

Conor rolled his eyes, but didn’t argue the point any further. He stood up to give Ned some space, but hesitated when the blond grabbed his hand and pulled him closer. Ned looked away, blushing slightly before looking into his eyes once more. 

 

“Would you, um...lay with me for a while?”

 

Conor would have done anything Ned could ever ask of him in that moment, and his heart suddenly felt a thousand times lighter. He leaned over and kissed him softly, grinning all the time.

 

“Sure, if you take off your shoes first.” He resisted the temptation to say that he’d lie with Ned for a hundred years if he’d asked.

 

Ned laughed into the kiss, tugging Conor onto the tiny bed. “I think I can do that.”

 

Conor turned off the light between their beds after Ned stood up, kicked off his shoes and began to undress, butterflies erupting in his stomach at the sight. What was this sudden heat creeping up his neck? It’s not like the two didn’t _live_ _together,_ and seen each other change countless times. Yet somehow, he felt a nervous anticipation as Ned changed into his pyjama pants and usual t-shirt, as though this time had been completely different. He supposed it was a new circumstance after all, and he couldn’t bring himself to look away.

 

At last, in the dark, Ned climbed in to join Conor in his own bed, and Conor hoped his boyfriend couldn’t hear his heart beating in the quiet night. The bed creaked painfully loudly, echoing around the room as Ned curled up against Conor as though they’d done this a million times before. And honestly, when he wrapped his arms around the smaller boy and nuzzled into his hair, it felt like they really had. Conor was suddenly aware of the fact that he hadn’t thought to brush his teeth before they came back, or bothered to wash his own hair after practice. How was this supposed to work again? Ned seemed to pick up on his slight tension and looked up at him, his chin against his chest and his tired eyes conveying only softness. He leaned up and kissed him deeply, and all of Conor’s nerves were swept away as though carried by the wind. Ned raised his hand and carded it gently through his hair, and Conor could’ve melted right then and there.

 

He must’ve dreamt about this before, or maybe they had been together in a past life or something, because those movements couldn’t have been more natural. Conor’s own hand found its way to Ned’s waist, and he kissed him back, almost forgetting how to breathe.

 

It was over as soon as it began, however, as Ned settled back into his spot against Conor’s chest, sighing happily. Conor wanted to burn this moment into his memory for as long as he lived, so he could experience the weight and warmth of this wonderful boy pressed against him over and over again. 

 

Ned spoke ever so softly against the fabric of his shirt. “Don’t fight him, tomorrow, okay?”

 

Conor sighed and placed a kiss to the top of his head before closing his eyes. “Okay.”

 

Ned fell asleep almost immediately and Conor wondered if he’d heard his response at all, his breathing getting slower, along with his own heart rate, and before long, he let himself sink further into blissful sleep, wishing this moment could last forever.

  
  


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_ I used to be so fucking scared all the time, ya know? But oh my God, Conor, you make me feel like I could take on the world. You’re the first person in years to remind me that I need to look up sometimes, and I have no idea how to thank you for it. How did I get so blessed with such wonderful people?  _

_ When I’m next to you, I feel no fear. You make me so excited for the next days, months, years.  _

 

_ So thank you, thank you, thank you. _

  
  


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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, good to see ya again! Sorry for taking forever to update, but I have two jobs and life just keeps happening. I hope ya'll are enjoying just regular life stuff in the story as much as I am; like I said, this is seriously drawn out. But I have so much fun writing all of their thoughts and character development! 
> 
> I hope you're enjoying the story, and as always, leave a comment!


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Diving into some of the other boy's POV! Gotta love the squad

Ned was thrown into consciousness the next morning by Conor’s godforsaken alarm, the sun not yet having crept over the horizon, with a solid warmth pressed against him. First his body noticed the extra heavy presence that seemed to be all around him, and then he felt the lingering ache thudding softly in his head. He groaned on instinct, willing himself deeper into whatever it was that was so  _ heated _ wrapped around him in attempt to escape from the offending sound. Whatever this comforting force was, he wasn’t letting it go any time soon, and held on even tighter, earning a sleepy laugh that reverberated through his bones in the most divine way. 

 

The larger figure moved away, and Ned moved right along with it, holding on as though glued to its chest. The physical disturbance to his dream-like state had been worth it, however, when the piercing sound about a foot away stopped, and the room finally stilled. Ned still wasn’t letting go, nevertheless, and Conor pushed them back onto the mattress with another soft chuckle. 

 

Conor nuzzled into the top of Ned’s hair and breathed in deeply before muttering in a low, rumbling voice that sounded like rich honey, “Good morning.”

 

“No.” Was all Ned was capable of saying, cherishing the way Conor’s shirt felt against his mouth as he curled up impossibly closer to his side. 

 

Conor seemed as reluctant to relinquish his hold as his boyfriend, however, and made no move to break their position, even as he said, “I’m afraid so.”

 

“Skip.”

 

“Sorry, no can do.”

 

_ “ _ Just this once,  _ please.” _ Ned ran his hand up Conor’s shirt, earning a sharp inhale from the other boy. How can someone be this  _ warm? _ This tough, yet so physically reassuring? There’d be no need for a space heater if he could have Conor in his bed. It was still so dark in the room, and Ned was so unbelievably comfortable that it could really be any time of night; maybe Conor had made a mistake, and they really had hours more until either of them had to move. The usual butterflies that usually occupied Ned’s chest when he was close to him hadn’t had the chance to wake up yet, and he didn’t have the wherewithal to be even slightly embarrassed about how new this was for the both of them. There was just this low flame, like simmering coals resting between them and filling him up in the most sublime way. The new, yet impossibly familiar smell of his partner was overwhelming his senses, and this must’ve been the magic cure for any migraine. Had Conor always smelled this good? 

 

It took Ned another moment to locate all of his limbs in their cocoon. One of his legs was between Conor’s, and he was perfectly nestled up to his side, nearly on top of him. His left arm must’ve fallen asleep between them as well, because he couldn’t find it, but really didn’t care in the slightest.

 

Conor took a couple more deep breaths, likely trying not to fall back asleep and will himself into consciousness, even with Ned’s thumb gliding softly against his ribs. “I wouldn’t have guessed you’d be such a cuddler.” He mumbled with only fondness in his voice.

 

Ned hadn’t even bothered to open his eyes yet. “Neither did I. I don’t hear you complaining, though.”

 

Conor gave a low laugh that sounded ethereal to Ned’s ears. “Wouldn’t dream of it. Gotta get up at some point, though, the day’s waiting for me.”

 

Ned slowly began to drift back into his mind, and he looked up at Conor with bleary eyes, barely seeing him in the faintest light. “And what about me? Surely I’ll freeze if you leave.” His bed was so small, they had no choice but to tangle up together, and God forbid the bed get any bigger that morning. This feeling of complete serenity was so new to him, and he didn’t think a meteor could make him let go of it. 

 

Conor looked back at him with heaven in his eyes and raised a hand to run it through Ned’s hair. “Yeah, that’d be tragic.” He shifted his body, unconsciously settling in even further and Ned felt a glimmer of triumph. “Tell you what, you let me go to practice, and we can do this again tomorrow night. Sleep in on Sunday, and you get me for as long as you want.” His mouth turned up slightly at the corners at the prospect. 

 

Ned could only look at him in his trance, his eyes finding the freckle just above the right side of Conor’s mouth, and leaned up to kiss that spot before finally giving in. With the most dramatic sigh he could muster, he detached himself from what had become his personal heated blanket and rolled over, rubbing his face against his pillow in a weak attempt to replace the comfort. His temples protested the sudden lack of warm pressure against them. 

 

Conor’s presence didn’t leave just yet however, and Ned felt him breathe against the back of his neck, making the tiny hairs on his nape stand up. 

 

Conor kissed him once, sending shivers down his spine and he whispered, “Good morning, Eddie.”

 

Ned gave a final groan of exasperation before Conor left the room, surrendering to the depths of sleep once more.   

  
  


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_ The fact that I can’t have Conor in my bed every night is fucking criminal. How am I supposed to sleep by myself when I now know there’s a literal furnace five feet away from me?  _

 

_ Jesus, he’s hot in every way. _

  
  


_ ________________________________________________________________________________________________ _

  
  


Conor was lucky that he was blessed with such willpower, because getting out of Ned’s bed that morning was probably the hardest thing he’d ever had to do in his _life._ It felt like he pulled himself out of the most perfect dream, and he would’ve thought that it was indeed a figment of his imagination if he didn’t feel an undeniable electricity to Ned all throughout that day, and he hoped he’d get to feel that until his last breath. He was grinning ear to ear all throughout practice, breakfast, and the first half of classes, and he couldn’t care less who saw. Much less Victor, who he’d finally come to accept that he couldn’t hide anything from in the first place. 

 

He knew that he should really try to tone it down, and maybe it was all in his head, but lately it had become so easy to forget that their school was more than their small group of friends. Victor apparently had run out of room to be surprised at any changes between the new couple, and though his eyes were as knowing as ever as he looked between the two, the day was proceeding normally; with the usual banter between Wally and Darcy.

 

“You know, it’s obvious that Walter and Pascal, or Pascal at least, couldn’t give less of a fuck about our grades anyway. He’s always like ‘Education is bullshit, all that matters is the battlefield.’ And all that crap. Even if I failed all my classes, I’d still be on the team.”

 

“Yeah, good luck telling that to University scouts.” Darcy hadn’t bothered to look up from his notebook, no doubt copying down complicated formulas or something. 

 

Wally sighed through his mouthful of food. “Anyway, I’m beyond ready to start playing in matches again; I can’t wait till the season starts again, now that I’m better than ever.”

 

Ned laughed. “Glad your back’s not suffering any permanent damage, then.”

 

Wally sat up a little straighter, a proud smile working its way across his face. “A  _ broken spine _ couldn’t stop me from playing rugby. Kinda like how an aneurysm couldn’t stop Darcy from working. All the. Fucking. Time. I’m probably gonna have to kill him one of these days just to make him stop.” He looked over at his roommate, clearly trying to get a rise out of him. 

 

Darcy only hummed in apparent disinterest. 

 

“Come on, what do I have to do to get that stick outta your ass? It must be ten meters deep by now.” He gave him a light push, smirking all the time.

 

Darcy, determined to ignore him, said nothing. 

 

Wally glanced around the table, looking for something to distract him with, when his eyes lit up. “Bet I can eat that whole stick of butter at once.”

 

“I’m sure you can, but please for the love of god, don’t.” 

 

Ned was a little more quiet than usual during the day, and Conor guessed he was still feeling the effects of a minor head injury. At least, he hoped it was minor, and he couldn’t figure out why Ned was being so stubborn about going to the infirmary. Perhaps he didn’t want to make a big deal out of the previous day’s events, but if there was one thing that could spoil Conor’s mood, it was the subtle reminders that their shared bully had inflicted any amount of pain on his boyfriend. When he’d woken up with the object of his utmost affection curled up against his side, he’d honestly forgotten all about it for a short time. It was like they’d woken up like that a hundred times before, and Conor hadn’t had the space in his fuzzy mind to feel even the slightest bit anxious to see Weasel on his way to morning training. It was like the feeling of lingering tenderness had filled his chest like a balloon, pushing away any worries or doubts, and Weasel’s absence from the field felt like a gift from above.

 

Nonetheless, he knew that once he saw his violent teammate again, the harder it would be to keep his promise to Ned and resist laying a hand on him. After his life had been turned upside down in the best way possible, the anger that used to reside in his stomach in response to life’s anxieties had melted away; almost like they’d never been there in the first place. He was beginning to forget that he’d once considered himself an angry person by nature. But that little seed of resentment that lived inside of him bloomed a little bit more whenever he noticed Ned wincing, even when it was due to something as simple as laughing too much. He knew Ned was trying his best to hide it for Conor’s sake, but as they day dragged on, he couldn’t ignore the thoughts of regret of his absence during yesterday’s scene. He was nervous to run into Weasel again, whenever that would be, because as much as Ned wished for him to stay out of it, the protective fire in his heart would likely burst as soon as he got the chance to show Weasel that the violence ended there. 

 

The feelings of disdain were present, surely, but so was the fluttering endearment that he felt from his fingers to his toes whenever he caught Ned’s eyes. Damn, he would never forget their first morning wrapped around each other (and definitely not their last,) for as long as he lived. So if he had to wait for Weasel’s inevitable return, whatever that may bring, at least he had something so blissful of his own to return to. 

  
  


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_ You know, I’ve always considered myself to be cool and collected, aloof in a calming way; even though I’d never really had anyone to compare myself to. At least cooler than Conor, who I can read like a book about historical socialism. Conor’s cool, sure, but that guy wears his heart on his sleeve.  _

 

_ Where was I going with this? _

 

_ Oh yeah, I thought I was someone who’s suave and appropriately aloof, but after this morning, I’ve pretty much been reduced to a puddle, all semblance of ‘coolness’ having completely melted away. I know Conor’s still upset about yesterday, but he’ll just have to wait until I can pull myself together. I didn’t think it was possible, but I just want  _ _ more _ _ of him, and I’m not entirely sure what that means. Waking up for the second time by myself, after experiencing the euphoria of sharing a bed with someone so...all encompassing, must be against some kind of law.  _

_ I swear, if it wasn’t for the fact that we met in the prison walls of this school, I’d be wishing for some kind of alternate reality, where we could leave school at the end of the day and I could hold him for as long as I wanted. A world where winter holiday meant two weeks without the persistent problem of practice, classes, and paper thin walls.  _

 

_ Distance supposedly makes the heart grow fonder, and even though we fucking  _ _ live together, _ _ if I can’t have him as openly as I want, he may as well be a hundred kilometers away. Christ, who knew I’d be this much of a sap? Let’s just say I’m a romantic.  _

 

_ So yeah, my head hurts; but if I small injury is what gets him into my bed, so be it. _

  
  


________________________________________________________________________________________________

  
  


“I won’t argue, but are you sure you want to sit in on practice? Apparently, no one’s seen Weasel since yesterday, but we all know how volatile things get when he’s around.” Ned and Darcy were on their way to the bleachers alongside the field, nearly shivering in the frigid temperatures, despite their winter coats.

 

Ned knew where he was going with this, and had made up his mind earlier in the day about whether or not he was going to spend another afternoon watching the rugby team do whatever it is they do. “Definitely. I’m not gonna let a headache stop me from my daily routine, even though there should be some kind of regulation about how cold is too cold to be running around the field. I’m freezing my ass off already, what if one of the players gets hypothermia or something? What are they even training for? Break is in like, two weeks, and they won’t be playing anyone else until January, right?” They hadn’t bothered to bring their studies up to the bleachers today, knowing that any attempt to focus on schoolwork in the frozen landscape would be futile. 

 

The grass was coated in frost, crunching beneath their footsteps, and their breaths were almost solid in front of them as Darcy spoke. “I hear that, I just think Pascal would see how truly pointless his life is if he let anyone take a break longer than legally mandated. He’d get lonely, standing in the field all by himself, blowing his whistle at no one; which I’m sure is what he does during holidays.” 

 

Ned couldn’t help but laugh at that, ignoring the tiny hammer in his head reminding him to not enjoy himself too much. They marched up the stairs of the bleachers, hoping that it’d be slightly warmer in the weak enclosure. “Still though, I’m only out here for about fifteen minutes, tops.”

 

He knew it was stupid to bring himself and Darcy outside for a practice that meant nothing at all. There wasn’t another soul with them in the bleachers, the other students having too much sense to go outside. But as far as Ned was concerned, he was on a mission to prove something to three people. He’d long since gotten past avoiding Weasel on the off chance that it’d make him any safer from him, and if he decided to make an appearance during the afternoon’s practice, he’d see Ned there, a silent protest to any of his attempts to intimidate him. Ned wasn’t going anywhere if he didn’t want to, and he didn’t need to use his fists to prove it.

The second reason was Conor, who he’d witnessed being lost in thought all day, likely dreading the next time he’ll see his regular aggressor again. Ned wanted to make it known to him as much as Weasel that his little gestures of support, though quiet and unassuming, were anything but insignificant. Ned was on his boyfriend’s side through and through, and he wanted to make it plain that he couldn’t be scared off after everything they’d been through. Ned tried to burrow into his coat even further to shield himself from the wind, and when he caught Conor’s eye, he gave him a little wave, earning a smile in response. Point made. 

 

Ned wanted to say all of these things to himself as well, knowing that if he skipped today, he might skip next week as well, as possibly never return to watch training for a game he really didn’t care about. He refused to let fear and anxiety have any hold over his life, determined to chase the wonderful blessings that swept him off his feet. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting when it came to Weasel that day; he just hoped for the best, which was nothing at all. Surely enough though, his tormentor was nowhere to be found. He was really beginning to wonder what Victor said to him to make him disappear from something he was clearly passionate about. What would things be like when he returned? Ned tried not to think about it too much, choosing to pretend that Weasel had never existed in the first place for as long as he could. 

 

He turned his attention back to the brunette next to him. “So, I’m completely stumped about what to get Wally for his Christmas/birthday present. Turns out I don’t actually know much about him at all, any ideas?”

 

Darcy looked at him thoughtfully with a small smile, his hands in his coat pockets. “So I’m guessing you’re his secret santa? Yeah, you wouldn’t think it, but he’s kind of a tough nut to crack, as much as he doesn’t shut up.” Ned nodded, trying to aggravate his headache as little as possible. 

 

“You shouldn’t stress out about it too much; he’s not really used to getting presents. You didn’t hear it from me, but with eight kids, his parents don’t have a ton of money, so his mum would just make him his favorite meal or something.” They were both eyeing their friend in question, who was executing plays below them skillfully; the only time he ever had a serious focus on anything.

 

“That’s lucky I suppose, since I’m not used to  _ giving _ presents.” For a moment, Ned forgot that not all of his friends knew about his tragic backstory, living in his mother’s house all on his own, without anyone to give to. He hoped Darcy wouldn’t ask for him to elaborate yet, though; this was about Wally, someone who was still almost a complete mystery to him. 

 

Darcy shrugged. “You wouldn’t know it, but he grew up taking care of his siblings when the older ones would move out. He’s like, the third or fourth child or something. So I can imagine it’d be difficult to have so many people around that need to be taken care of; I think you should just get him something that makes him feel appreciated. I’m an only child, so maybe I’m not the best person to ask, but that’s what I’d want if I grew up in a house full of people.”

 

Ned never would’ve guessed. How had none of them got to talking about this until now? Darcy seemed to hear what he was thinking, because he added, “He’s not trying to keep it a secret or anything, but you know him. He just wants to have fun, and I think talking about his middle child syndrome kinda bums him out.” 

 

The blond leaned back against the bench behind him, trying his best to keep warm as he watched Wally perform the usual drills with the rest of the players. He appreciated his friends more than he could really comprehend, and wished he could show them how much he cared. His quietness throughout the day didn’t go unnoticed, because after a couple minutes, Darcy spoke up again.

 

“So what are you gonna get Conor?”

 

Ned snorted. “What makes you think I’m getting him anything?” 

 

Darcy gave him his most dramatic eyeroll yet. “Oh,  _ please _ , Edwin. I have eyes, you know, and he looks at you like you hung the moon or something; I know you’ll be exchanging your own gifts.”

 

Ned suddenly wasn’t so cold anymore. He looked back at the field, knowing for a fact that his face was heating up. “Nothing special, I’m just gonna write him a letter or something.” He had no intentions of telling anyone on earth what his words would be, however.

 

“What, no promise rings?” 

 

The laugh that burst from Ned’s lungs was completely unavoidable, and he dug his elbow into Darcy’s side, much to his amusement. “Shut up.”

 

Weasel or no Weasel, nothing could burst his bubble.

  
  


________________________________________________________________________________________________

  
  


_ Remember those egregious sounds that my lovely classmates make whenever they want to remind me how much of a homosexual I am? Well, I never let it bother me too much; maybe one day I’d wake up and forget all about my sexual orientation, which wasn’t hard, being around insecure, embarrassingly awkward teenage boys all day every day. Since me and Conor got together, I’ve started to find it kind of hilarious. It’s strange, how in an enclosed institution like this, old jokes like that can circulate forever, even after everyone’s tired of it.  _

_ Whenever I’m minding my own business, thinking about how long I have before I need to buy new hair dye, Conor’s ass, or the rise of anti-fascist organizations in the UK, at any given moment, I’ll hear that sound being roared into my ear.  _

 

_ And I couldn’t care less! Because little do they know (or maybe everyone knows; I have no clue,) that I’ve got the hottest boyfriend in Ireland. Yeah, I know it’s been just two weeks, but I’m not ashamed in the slightest about how excited I am. The honeymoon phase is in full swing, and if all I have to bear are unflattering mating calls, (is that what they are?) then I think I can live to see another day. _

 

_ There is something that’s been bugging me about it, though. It seems like there’s an unspoken rule that strictly states that Conor doesn’t have to deal with any of it. No one makes those noises at him, and it seems that the rule only applies to me when we’re together. I know it’s because he’s the star athlete that saved the school from eleven years of loss in a row and all that, but why am I not awarded the same amount of respect? I didn’t really do anything to get it, and I’m as invisible as ever, but did the student body forget that Conor’s gay too? Yes, it’s my fault that everyone knows, but if they can accept him, why can’t they accept me?  _

 

_ Another reason to appreciate my posse of large puppies is that the other students only do it when I’m alone; which is hardly at all, anymore. I can’t say that I miss my life of solitude. _

  
  


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Victor was praying for the day that he’d be able to appreciate a Friday afternoon like the rest of the world, with the promise that Saturday morning meant sleeping in, blissfully free of Pascal’s clutches. He  _ loved _ rugby, he really did, but was there any reason to take away a day of hard-earned relaxation? He wanted to write a book about the coach’s ruthlessness, daddy issues and all, so the world could finally see all the team had to put up with. He deserved a medal for being team captain for so long. 

 

The one good thing about training during the winter months was the ecstatic feeling of a hot shower after his toes had gone numb on the field. The physical exertion did its best to stave off the frigid air, but there was nothing like hot water straight from the boiler to ease his muscles. 

 

All good things must come to an end though, and he sucked in a breath as he reluctantly followed Conor out of the locker room door, his lungs protesting the frosty evening chill. As usual after vigorous exercise, his stomach was screaming at him to get some dinner, and he almost didn’t notice that Conor seemed to be preparing to say something as they headed to the dining hall. Wally had once again been ordered to stay back, even though the poor guy looked ready to pass out from exhaustion.

 

Victor picked up on Conor’s tells of apprehension quickly into their friendship. He stuffed his hands into his pockets, visibly picking at his fingers through the fabric with his eyes to the ground. 

 

“What’s up, Conor?” 

 

Conor lifted his head, apparently not realizing he’d been caught lost in his thoughts. He heaved a sigh before replying in a low voice, in case of passerby, “I haven’t got a clue what to get Ned for Christmas.”

 

Victor couldn’t help but laugh at that; he guessed it was something a little more serious, but his laughter subsided as soon as he saw the look in Conor’s eyes. “Sorry, sorry. Go ahead.”

 

Conor’s steps slowed a little as he thought about how to express his feelings. “I feel like I should automatically know or something, ya’ know, expectations and all that. But God, he’s so...special. I don’t even know where to begin. I tried looking for something when we went out, but I feel like there’s nothing I could give him that would be…” He was practically whispering now, “..Good enough.”

 

This was gut-wrenchingly adorable, and a grin spread across Victor’s face before he could do anything about it. He threw his arm over Conor’s shoulders and pulled him into his side before he could say anything that would embarrass his friend too much. 

 

He did chuckle again, though, as much as he’d done his best not to; it was all too sickeningly sweet, how Conor could be stressed out about something that was so small in the grand scheme of things. It was plain as day how much the two liked each other. “My friend, I don’t think you have anything to worry about. It’s obvious that he likes you as much as you like him, and I know he’s not looking for anything special.”

 

Conor blushed, looking away from Victor back down to the ground. “You think so?” He knew that Conor knew this was true, but his apprehension was probably normal, since this was so new to the both of them.

 

“Dude, you could literally spit in his hand and he’d thank you for it.”

 

This earned a snort from Conor, and he visibly relaxed, putting his hand on Victor’s shoulder in return. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. Did I tell you he gave me a harmonica for my birthday?”

 

They continued their usual pace as they walked along to join their friends in the dining hall. “No, but I suppose I wouldn’t put it past him, the way his mind must work. That’s an idea though, you could get him a tambourine or something and get the band back together.” 

 

Conor pushed open the door with his free hand, smirking. “Sure, if you sing.”

  
  


__________________________________________________________________________________________________

  
  


_ If I weren’t trying so hard to prove a point, I’d quit sitting in on practice in the winter altogether. What’s the point of freezing my ass off when Conor and the rest of them are all bundled up now? I’ve got nothing to look at, and it’s almost too cold to read.  _

 

_ Hopefully this headache is long gone by the time I wake up tomorrow so I can actually focus on something for more than five minutes. Wally smashed a jar of something over the table during dinner trying to open it, but I can’t remember what it was.  _

  
  


__________________________________________________________________________________________________

  
  


“Darcy, it’s like, one in the morning on a Saturday night. Put that textbook down or I’m kicking your ass.” Wally was reclining on his bed, lifting the hand over his eyes to look resentfully over at his roommate. As soon as they returned to their room after the group’s day of hanging out, Darcy had put his pyjamas on and gotten right back to copying down notes. 

 

“I didn’t do any homework today, just making sure I’ve got everything down.” He replied, his mind on alkaline earth metals and all their properties. 

 

“Mate, you’re like, the smartest guy I know. What do you have to stress out about? You’ll ace midterms, and just about every other test in the world, with no problem.” 

 

Darcy leaned back in his chair, willing himself to shut his eyes. “I’m not really  _ stressed, _ I just want to be the best I can while I’m here. In a couple years I’ll be applying to universities, and I want the grades to be able to go anywhere I choose, ya’ know? So when I find out what I wanna do, I can find a school that can’t say no to my test scores. Especially if I get into advanced classes.”

 

Wally threw a pillow over his face, exasperated by his friend’s unwavering determination. Darcy hardly heard his muffled reply, finally looking over at him. “Well, I’m pretty sure even top tier scholars have to sleep at some point, right?”

 

Darcy shrugged and shut off his desk lamp, submitting to his own drowsiness and moving to flop onto his own bed. “Shouldn’t you be stressing out just a little? Midterms are on Monday, you know.”

 

“Yeah, I know, you’ve only told me about six thousand times! Six thousand and thirty-two, by my count. And I’m not letting you bring your homework to breakfast tomorrow; Sunday is the Lord’s day, and studying is strictly forbidden in the bible.”

 

Darcy smirked, knowing that Wally couldn’t see him in their darkened room. “Is it, now?”

 

“Yep, read it front to back to front again. I don’t make the rules, Darce, I just follow them.” 

 

The younger of the two scoffed. “Yeah, right. If that’s the case, I fully expect you to pass your exams.” He buried himself in his blankets, attempting to tear his mind away from the equations he’d been memorizing. He nearly had whole the periodic table down, maybe he could get Ned to quiz him again.

 

“I wonder if I can grow a beard this summer...wouldn’t it be easier in warm weather? Hair follicles and all that?”

 

“Hm?”

 

“I heard your hair grows faster in the summer, maybe this summer’s my time. I’d look so cool with a beard.”

 

“Sure, if you tried about fifteen summers from now.”

 

“I don’t know man, I saw Danvers  _ shaving _ yesterday, and he’s a year behind me! I’m so jealous…”

 

“Didn’t you say something about sleep a few minutes ago?” Darcy should’ve been used to Wally’s late night train of thought by now, and knew better than to indulge him if he wanted to get any sleep.

 

Wally must’ve taken the hint, because he fell silent. Darcy’s mind drifted slowly back to chemistry. He found it fascinating, sure, but should he consider a major in it one day? What do people even do with degrees in chemistry? What do chemists do, anyway?

 

It wasn’t long before he heard his roommate’s voice behind him again.

 

“What’s your middle name?”

 

Darcy snickered before he could stop himself. “I’ve told you at least twice before, it’s Andrew.”

 

“Oh yeah...isn’t it weird how people have middle names? I’d think it was weird even if I had one, and I just don’t get the point. We have social security numbers now, who needs an extra name?”

 

“Oh my god…”

 

“I don’t know man, I think my parents had the right idea. There are too many of us to bother with it, like, why do you need sixteen names for eight kids?”

 

There was no getting away from Wally’s thought processes tonight, it seemed. Darcy turned to face Wally, hoping he could feel his exasperation from across the room.

 

“I can practically hear you rolling your eyes.”

 

“Okay, I’ll bite.” He figured they both had time to sleep in, anyway. “What would you want your middle name to be if you had one?”

 

“Ooh, that’s a good question, I’ve never thought about it before. Something cool for sure like…” He thought for a split second. “Hussain.” 

 

It was an amazing feat how often Wally could make Darcy laugh, no matter how tired of his shit he usually was or whether or not he did it on purpose. He tried to stifle his laughter, sparing their neighbors from further disturbance. “Yeah, that’s a good one.”

 

“Thanks, you can only call me that from now on. So, who’s Andrew?”

 

Darcy lied on his back, his hands behind his head and looking up at the empty space that was the ceiling. “It’s just me, I guess. My parents couldn’t agree on the name, and Darcy was my mum’s choice. I guess she got the first name; pregnancy rights or something.”

 

“Darcy’s a pretty cool name, not gonna lie. Your mum, what’s she like?”

 

Darcy smiled to himself. “She’s the best, no doubt about it. Kicked my piece of shit dad out as soon as she started making enough money to take care of us both, and always pushes me to follow my passions, even though I don’t know what they are yet. She’s, I don’t know...powerful.” 

 

“Yeah, she sounds awesome.”

 

“What’s yours like?”

 

“Hm...she’s powerful too, but I guess in a different way. You gotta be, to look after so many people. Yeah, that woman keeps us  _ in check. _ Very strict, very Catholic; she was pissed when I told her I wasn’t going to mass anymore. She cares though; I’m the only one they could send to private school. So even though I’m probably going to Hell or something, I still wanna…” He breathed in. “Do what I can when I play.”

 

Darcy didn’t push him to elaborate, knowing by now that Wally would share what he wanted to. He was grateful that his mother would understand when he told her that he was done with rugby and that he eventually wanted to switch to a school that suited his needs more, whatever they may be. He wasn’t going to mention that to his friends yet, though. 

 

“Darcy?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Are you gay?” 

 

The question took him by surprise, but he was far beyond feeling any anxiety towards it. In their small group of friends, it wasn’t something to be scared of, and he knew that he could be honest with someone he was growing so close to.

 

“Honestly, I don’t know. Like everything else around here, there’s no chance for me to figure it out. Ned and Conor just got lucky, I suppose. Sometimes I look at them together and I think, ‘Yeah, that sounds nice.’ But I’ve never had a crush on anyone before, not for real.” He wanted to explore so much of what life had to offer outside of these walls, far away from all their ancient rules about what boys should be. “I’m pretty sure I like girls, though. Maybe? To tell you the truth, I haven’t given it a whole lot of thought. There’s nothing to do about it in boarding school, no one to...let’s say,  _ experiment _ with on either side, so what’s the point in trying to figure it out now?” 

 

Wally simply hummed in response, mulling over his words.

 

Darcy smirked, and he was sure Wally could hear it in his voice. “Why? Are  _ you _ gay?”

 

The other boy snorted. “No, pretty sure I’m not. I’d never met any gay people before I started hanging out with the group.”

 

“And…?

 

“And, I dunno! All I ever heard about homosexuality was through the church, and that and a whole lot else about Catholicism never made any sense to me. When they talked about people of the same sex loving each other, I always thought, ‘Okay, why not?’ I mean, it’s stupid to think everyone in the world is straight, and what’s it to anyone else, ya’ know? I don’t know much about it at all, really, but I know it’s not up to me to decide. So when I ditched the church, I let go of all that shit they said. And besides, you guys are the only real people I’ve ever hung out with, and if my best friends end up being gay, it doesn’t change anything. And guys like Weasel piss me off; I never wanna be like that.”

 

Darcy was touched, to say the least. It wasn’t like their education system talked about any of this, and he was delighted to hear that Wally had thought about it on his own. He really loved his friends, and though he was definitely a pain in the ass, Darcy loved him back for it. 

 

He yawned, and rolled to lie down on his stomach. “Glad to hear it. But, Hussain, my friend, it’s time to get some sleep.” 

 

Wally chuckled, having forgotten about his previous joke. “Okay, mate. Goodnight.” 

  
  


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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honest to god, I was in a fucking haze when I wrote this, so my apologies if that's obvious. I've been writing for like 12 hours straight, so I hope you enjoyed! I could honestly write a whole book that's just cuddling, should I include the Sunday morning cuddles? Or are we good?
> 
> Okay, see ya later :)
> 
> (Please leave a comment, I live for the feedback <3)


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cuddles! Romance! Gift exchanges! It's all going down in the If You Dare universe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! I really hope you enjoy this chapter, cause it feels like I've spent FOREVER planning it. And I gotta say, things get a little...steamy at first. It's very PG-13, but you've been warned. Also! Ned's load of journal entries in this one is over the span of like, a week and half, so there's a small time jump in here.

He’s dreaming.

Swimming through waves of thought and warmth with nothing to hold on to. Nothing to do but open his arms and wade through oceans of faces and memory, little moments like sand between his toes. Blue eyes, just like his own, making his heart burst in the most familiar way before fading away in this imaginary mist. He’s not scared though, there’s no tremor in his bones as the word, _his word_ , drifts through his ears.

_Special._

A new set of eyes appear, and he recognizes the buzz in his fingertips before his mind can catch up. These brown eyes have a name, but more than that, they have a feeling. A whirlwind of emotions, butterflies, and hiccups; making his breath catch. He wants to get closer, always. To reach out and hold his face in his hands like it’s always the first time. He’s not scared.

There’s no future in this dream. No past, or present, or anything he needs to do. He’s just floating on top of this body of water with nothing to wish for. This feeling of nothing while at the same time being the feeling of everything, he’s lost in it.

Everything is so bright, though. The water is warm and this white light is bouncing off of his skin like he’s a mirror. He doesn’t realize his eyes are closed until he feels sunlight against his eyelids.

 

* * *

 

It was one of those mornings that Ned doesn’t remember when he woke up, or how long he’d been awake. There it was again, that soul-crushing _heat_ that he couldn’t get enough of, wrapped around his waist and pressed against his back. He took a deep breath, wishing he could bring this feeling into his lungs, and it almost made his head spin. If he was feeling anything but the deep comfort that made a home in his stomach, it might’ve even been too hot under two blankets, a jersey sheet, and _Conor._

Sunday truly was a blessed day, and this was ten times better than going to church.

He shifted, only to sink further into Conor’s touch, and, predictably, Conor was already awake in the morning light. They were so perfectly curled up together that the larger of the two hardly had to move before Ned could feel his breath on the back of his neck. His mouth ghosted a sleepy kiss over his nape, and Ned let out a sigh of sheer contentment. Conor’s hand was pressed against his chest and one of his legs was between both of his own, and Ned had never even _considered_ how amazing this would be. He could feel the slow rise and fall of Conor’s chest behind him, and _fuck,_ it just felt like home _._

He finally opened his eyes, and smiled to himself when he saw Conor’s bed across from him, evidently untouched. This was a new sight, and he joyfully welcomed the change.

After giving a habitual glance towards the door to make sure it really was locked, he let his eyes close again. He could faintly hear the lazy rumblings of teenage boys through the walls. They could do this all fucking day if they wanted, and though Ned slept better than ever, he easily could’ve dozed for another twelve hours with the _rightness_ of it all.

“Good morning.” He muttered instead.

He felt Conor smile against his neck, and his heart fluttered gently. “Good morning. Sleep well?”

“You don’t know the half of it.”

Conor nuzzled into the back of his head and Ned wondered if he was even conscious of how often he did that, but it was a habit he wasn’t about to complain about. “Hm, glad to hear it. How’s your head?”

“Much better.” Thanks to this human heat wave melting away any previous pain, that headache felt like a faraway memory. They were quiet for a couple minutes more, and Ned closed his eyes again, falling deeper into Conor’s impossibly warm embrace, backing further into his touch and-

_Woah, that’s new._

“Shit, sorry.” Ned felt the area behind heat up immediately and he knew Conor was blushing. He shimmied about an inch back from Ned, but the tiny bed didn’t allow for much room to hide it. “Couldn’t help it.”

Ned resisted the urge to bury his face in his pillow, even though he must’ve been blushing furiously as well. Before he could do anything to stop it, he giggled, _giggled_ for God’s sake, and the nonexistent tension was broken. “Don’t worry about it.” And he settled back into Conor, who let out a laugh of his own, along with this new...addition making its presence known.

“Funny, I never considered myself to be the little spoon ‘till now.”

Conor snorted. “Between the two of us? No contest.”

“Damn, does that make me the bottom, too?”

Conor nearly squeezed the life out of him trying to hide his embarrassment in the back of Ned’s shirt. “Oh my God, shut up, Eddie.”

Ned thought the nickname was a fair price to pay for the satisfaction of getting Conor this flustered so early into their day. Feeling much more awake now, he swiftly turned to face his rosy boyfriend, (causing the bed to creak irritatingly in the process,) and placed a definitive kiss on his lips.

He cupped Conor’s face in his hands, reveling in how heated it had become, and deepened the kiss, smiling all the time. He’d never wanted to be so close to someone before, and his mouth acted of its own volition, taking Conor’s bottom lip between his teeth, earning a sigh from him.

Conor spoke against his lips, “I should brush my teeth…”

“Nah, I don’t care.” And Ned, emboldened by divine intervention probably, ran his tongue over Conor’s lips, and Conor just about melted. He slid his hand up Ned’s shirt and grabbed his waist, pulling them even closer. His hands were rough, and his fingertips on Ned’s skin sent shivers up his spine as they held each other.

Forgetting about the cold chill of the room, the blond let the covers fall off his shoulders as he shifted their position, settling himself on top of the brunette as he let him run his hands up his sides, and _wow_ this was better than he expected. Sure, they had made out the night they first kissed, but Ned had been such a mess of adrenaline at the time that he hardly remembered it. The way they moved now was slow, deliberate, and inexperienced, no doubt; but it felt like his heart was beating in time with their movements against each other’s lips.

Conor’s tongue pushed its way into his mouth and Ned had to remind himself that the walls of their dorm were paper thin. Any hint of their previous embarrassment had apparently vanished as he unintentionally lifted his hips and dragged his nails gently along Ned’s back, and suddenly it was _way_ too hot under all those blankets.

Ned held himself up with one hand to remove the extra weight, and kept himself there to run his free hand up Conor’s own shirt. He let himself freely explore the expanse of the stomach and chest that he so frequently found himself thinking about, _(yep; rock hard,)_ biting the other’s lip as his fingers moved. Conor let out the softest of groans, and it was clear that he wasn’t the only one with a hard-on at this point. Ned, feeling no fear whatsoever, pushed his hips forward in time with Conor’s, completely forgetting how to breathe at that moment. Conor’s hand found its way into his hair, just barely tugging at the roots-

 

“OI! Breakfast is over in half an hour!”

And in a display of complete shock, Ned just about jumped out of his skin and toppled over onto the floor.

_Hello, headache. Good to see ya’ again._

“Yeah.” Conor called back at what had clearly been Wally’s voice behind the door before peering over the edge of the bed, face flushed and pupils still blown wide. His amusement showed through the concern on his face. “You okay?”

Ned sat up, rubbing the back of his head. “Better than ever.” He lifted himself up off the floor and kneeled in front of the bed, taking a moment to admire the look in Conor’s eyes before kissing his pink lips once more. So much for getting Conor for as long as he wanted this morning. “Some other time then.”

Conor ran a thumb over his cheek and murmured, “Honestly, fuck breakfast.”

“You won’t be saying that when you have to wait another three hours until they serve lunch.” Damn everyone in charge who decided that Sunday breakfast would only be available until nine-thirty in the morning.

Conor smirked and took a moment to plant soft kisses across Ned’s cheek and along his jawline, making him instinctively lean into the touch, biting his lip. “Some other time then, I guess.”

 

* * *

 

_I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again. How the hell am I supposed to wake up by myself after all that? It’s like there’s a piece of heaven in my bedroom every morning, but it’s five feet away and always gone before I wake up, and it’s absolutely cruel. It’s unbelievable that we spend so much time together, being /roommates/ and all, and only a fraction of my time can be spent having him exactly as I want him. Which isn’t a new thought, how I want him, (and boy, do I want him,) but it’s definitely one that feels more tangible than ever. Suddenly I can’t stop thinking about all the ways I want him in my bed, and it feels truly scandalous._

_I pray that no one heard, or will ever hear, anything. It’s so frustrating, living in a cold world with small, creaky beds and thin walls that tell everyone’s secrets. It really makes me wonder if this has ever happened with past students, as it surely must have. How did they cope with burning desire coupled with the crippling fear of eavesdroppers?_

_Anyway, if Wally heard me crashing to the floor this morning, he didn’t say anything about it when we finally dragged our asses to breakfast._  

_*_

_*_

_At last! Midterms are officially over, and Darcy and Wally can find something else to bicker about on a day to day basis. Darcy undoubtedly got himself into advanced classes, and now I only have to wait for the next half of the year to start until he’ll believe us when we tell him so._

_Wallace can finally go back to being an academic delinquent, and all is right in the world._  

_*_

_*_

_I told Darcy yesterday that I’m far too punk to listen to Beyonce, and after animatedly expressing how affronted he was with that sentiment, he let me borrow his very own Lemonade CD. Now, as someone who has diligently studied the historical punk movement in the UK, I feel I have the highest authority to label myself as a Punk™. Nothing can satisfy my desire for cultural revolution and the demolition of social norms, as laid out by my predecessors._

_That being said, I also feel like I couldn’t call myself a genuine homosexual if I didn’t talk about how the complete album was/is a moment in musical history. The slam poetry (written by a London poet called Warsan Shire,) is something I have a responsibility to openly admire, having looked it up at Darcy’s demand. Her voice, the imagery through the words, her sheer vulnerability that paints a picture of an experience of which I’ve never gone through is artistry. It’s more than pop; the production is legendary and she really does have the voice of an angel._  

_This has been Music Reviews with Edwin Roche._

_*_

_*_

_Apparently Conor used to want to be a drummer when he was a kid, and I think that’s so adorable. I can imagine my ever-more-fit boyfriend going apeshit over a drum set, me in the crowd wearing my dream vintage leather jacket and expensive combat boots; and honestly? After we get out of this creative desert, I hope he has some of his trust fund left to humor me and get a set of his own._

_*_

_*_

_Last night in the group’s HQ, Darcy asked me about my thoughts on Brexit, and BOY did I go off. For one thing, I’m so thrilled to talk to someone about my vehement opinions of British politics who knows even more than I do about how much of a shit storm this will unfold. I got so wrapped up in ranting about how fucking detrimental this is eventually going to be for Ireland as a whole that I barely noticed that the others had bailed about thirty minutes into our conversation. And another hour and a half was hardly enough time to cover all that ground._

_Does anyone remember the deadly events that surrounded the borders between Northern Ireland and the Republic of Ireland? Because I do, and I wasn’t even there. I have no idea what’s about to happen, but nothing on this earth is going to stop me from escaping this place once I graduate, even new borders and years of uncertainty._  

_*_

_*_

_I walked into our room today to find Conor, my roommate and boyfriend, doing a handstand in the middle of the floor. Does it count as a handstand if he was on his forearms? Either way, I’m positive he does shit like that just to fuck with me. It was like the first time I laid eyes on him, when I unknowingly walked in in the exact same way, my jaw slamming onto the floor and him looking like a teenage Greek god. Christ, those muscles and the way his shirt rode up to his chin are gonna be the death of me one day._

_“Unbelievable.” Was all I could say, before demanding that he teach me to do it just so I’d have something else to focus on before inevitably embarrassing myself._

_Now, I’m nowhere near as strong or athletic as he is, but I’m not a /complete/ wimp; contrary to popular belief. Sure, I haven’t spent even a fraction of my life exercising as much as he does and he could undoubtedly crush me like a twig (ignoring those thoughts,) but I actually held my own pretty well once he helped me get my feet off the floor. But I definitely have a new appreciation for his arms, shoulders, and core muscles that I didn’t think was possible until now._

_While I was upside down, pushing my body to its limits, he resumed his position facing directly in front of me, and we ended up just grinnin’ at each other like idiots until I had to come back to earth._  

_Even though he could easily pin me down and I’d be powerless to do anything about it (God willing,) it’s stupid how damn cute he is._  

_*_

_*_  

_It snowed, like REALLY snowed for the first time this Friday, and to celebrate the last day of rugby practice until the new year (much to Gerard’s distaste, I’m sure) Wally and Victor forced my reluctant ass outside for a snowball fight. I haven’t had a snowball fight since I was like, nine years old, and we all know how I feel about the cold by now._

_Honestly, as much as I could complain about soaked converse, skinned knees, and the unshakeable chill that only Conor could fix, I can’t lie. I had the best time._  

_By the time I’d gotten down to the grounds, Conor and Darcy had already built the team’s respective forts, which, given how much snow had covered the ground, were quite impressive. And if I had any expectations of this being a casual, respectable game between friends, I was sorely mistaken._  

_This was real._

_The boys had acquired two little flags which would be the symbol of victory for whichever team captured the other’s first. I knew the only chance I had at saving my skin was to convince them that Wally and Victor couldn’t be on the same team; that was just too much chaotic energy at once, and it simply wouldn’t be fair. So it was between Wally and Darcy vs Conor, Victor, and myself. I would have been more than happy to be a spectator, but Victor wasn’t having any of it. These were more than forts; somehow they’d conjured up barriers second only to the United States border patrol, and there were no limits to the puppies’ collective energy._

_It was the closest thing to rugby that I will ever play within the many years of my life._

_Wallace predictably cast the first stone, and then it was on. Conor was lightning quick, crossing the border between our side and theirs, and from my view behind the snowy wall, they were ready for him. Darcy jumped and threw him to the ground, then Wally came running our way. Being the strategic mastermind I am, I built an arson of snowballs for Victor to fire, and I swear I saw the depths of war in his eyes. He was throwing them faster than my (increasingly numb) hands could conjure, and before I knew it, Wally was right behind me. I knew my time of hiding in safety had run out, and I, assuming I couldn’t rely on Victor’s protection, shoved the piece of snow I’d been working on right into Wally’s face, making him slip on the icy ground._

_I made a run for it, knocking over Darcy in the process with sheer luck, considering that guy is still like a brick wall. He’d given up on trying to capture our flag, opting to protect his territory, but Conor was right on top of him, preventing him from retreating back to his base with his own flight of snowballs. This was my one and only chance to capture their flag._

_“Yeah, go for it, Ned!” Victor shouted from behind, and at the speed of light I skidded into their base on my knees, swiping their tiny red flag with one fell swoop. Running back out with the trophy in hand, we were the winners._  

_The battle stopped, and before I knew it, Conor tackled me to the ground, quickly followed by Victor, Wally and Darcy- all of them red faced and laughing; none of them caring in the slightest that I was being smothered by rugby players in the frigid snow. But I really couldn’t help it, I was laughing too._

_After letting me breathe, the puppies decided that the match had been far too short, and we obviously needed to regroup and strategize before moving to an area that had more natural coverage. We played like, four more matches before it was pitch black and we were all soaked and nearly starving to death._

_I’ve never been colder and hardly more out of breath, but for the life of me, I can’t remember ever smiling that much in my whole life._

 

* * *

 

Victor prided himself on his reputation of a somewhat “All-Knowing Sage” of the school, even though it was plain as day that people could see what he did if they just looked a little harder. Everyone has tells; little things they do when they’re nervous, angry, excited, or whatever it may be. Sure, he’s nosy as all hell, but sometimes people can be so _obvious_ about how they’re feeling that he sometimes felt like he was getting slapped in the face by it. He liked to be in the know; especially when it came to his friends, previous or otherwise.

But if the shift in Wesley’s personality wasn’t as clear as the sky is blue, absolutely nothing was. 

He’d returned to the land of the living on the Monday after he assaulted Ned, and it was like he was a different person altogether. Hardly anyone had seen him all weekend and Victor was keeping a sharp eye on him ever since, but it didn’t take a psychic to notice that he began talking less and less. Wesley was always the loudest, most outspokenly passionate person on the team, but as the days continued on, he would only speak when spoken to, or when it was necessary for the game; and then they’d only been one word responses at best. He didn’t look happy, sad, or even pissed; nowadays he just looked...unfocused. Victor would look over at him to see him just staring off into space during any given moment, and sometimes he’d scrunch up his eyebrows as though confused by some unseen thought behind his eyes.

It wasn’t just during practice, it was whenever they passed each other in the halls, the dorms, or the dining hall. Victor thought he might’ve been intentionally avoiding his eyes after their _conversation_ , but it really looked like Wesley hadn’t noticed him in the first place. To anyone who didn’t know him, it probably seemed like the demeanor of someone who was simply fine, without leaning one way or the other. 

Victor knew Weasel, and all of this meant that he really wasn’t fine. Even before the death of his father, there was hardly a quiet minute with that kid and the ever-present smirk on his face. Victor felt for him, he really did, but he was hoping that all of this silence gave away the possibility that Wesley was actually taking the time to think about things. Victor couldn’t guess what it was exactly that was going through his mind, but he hoped it was something along the lines of the person he’d become. Maybe he was just realizing it for the first time, that he can’t pretend everything’s fine and normal when any other person would be knee-deep in grief.

He’d never known Wesley to be the type of person to consider the effect his actions have on those around him, so he guessed that whatever inner turmoil he was in had nothing to do with Victor’s friends. Perhaps he was just letting himself be _sad_ , and a part of Victor wanted to be there to help him go through it, but he had decided to see Wesley for who he truly is when he confronted him. He’d never given a thought to the consequences of anything he did to others, and as much as it sucked, it was high time for him to consider anything but his explosive instincts. Sometimes you have to work shit out for yourself, and Victor wanted to give him plenty of room to do so.

So until Wesley figured out that he actually wants to seek out help and _get through this_ in some kind of productive way, Victor resolved to let him be. He saw the good and bad to everyone around him, and it was both a blessing and a curse. Victor was known to give out one too many second chances, but hopefully, at some point, Wesley would want to put forth the good in him, and Victor would be there when it happened. They definitely weren’t friends at the present time, but he couldn’t help it; he wanted to be friends with almost everyone he came across, and he wouldn’t spend time with someone he believed to be truly malicious.

One day, when Wesley finally got through everything he needed to go through, Victor would look forward getting to know the good person that he could be.

 

* * *

 

_I wish there was a way I could read what I’m writing in five, ten, thirty years from now, like in the Chamber of Secrets. Preferably with less possession, though._

_I wish I could say, “Hey Ned in two years, how are you today?”_  

_And he’d say something like, “Oh, I’m great! Taking advantage of my full ride scholarship in Paris, and life just gets better every day.”_

_I wouldn’t ask him for any real spoilers, but I’d just like to hear what his favorite book store is, or what he dreamt about the previous night. Future night? I wonder what I’ll be dreaming about in the years to come._

_I wouldn’t even need to speak to my future self directly, I’d just like to read a passage about the worst coffee he’d had that day, and how french press is obviously the best way to brew. Just day to day stuff, because honestly it can be so hard to come up with things to talk about with my current self._  

_This is getting too confusing and it’s late. See you later, ghosts of Ned past, present, and future._

 

* * *

 

Wally’s birthday and, coincidentally, the last day before they all left school for Christmas holiday finally rolled around, and the group of friends were just settling into what had become one of Conor’s favorite places in the world. The party would have started much sooner if Wally’d had his way, it being a Saturday and all, but Darcy had forcefully convinced him that they should wait until after dinner to freely debauch. Conor found it hilarious how often Darcy had to police their friend into submission; there seemed no end to his exasperated patience. 

Conor could go on all day long about how happy he’d been lately, but what was becoming somehow even more present in his mind was how cheerful Ned had become every day. Granted, he hadn’t known Ned for too long, but he could imagine how a life of loneliness would weigh down on a person, and he could guarantee that feeling this content so often was a new experience for him as well. As much as he’d like to take most of the credit for all that, Conor knew damn well that neither of them would be where they are if they didn’t have the best friends in the world around them. That lot just waltzed into their lives without permission or apology, and made a home in their little world like they already belonged. He knew Ned felt the same way, and if it took a night of presents and what would undoubtedly be too much alcohol to show that, then so be it.

Wally had pestered him all day, demanding that Conor get properly drunk with him this time, (“And I mean _properly_ _sloshed,_ like, lost a shoe, can’t remember a damn thing in the morning, singing at the top of your _lungs_ plastered, alright?”) and though Conor considered himself to be completely in control at the best of times, there was a silent declaration of a challenge between them in that moment.

Besides, the growing feeling of dread that always sat in his chest in the days before he’d have to see his father again might’ve given him a little encouragement to let loose.

Ned, being the little angel that he is, snuck a muffin, a small tub of frosting, and a single candle from the kitchens after dinner to make a small impromptu birthday cupcake for Wally, and the soft look of excitement that spread across his face when he was presented with it could’ve lit the candle all on its own.

“Just don’t expect me to sing to you.” He said as Wally gingerly took it into his hands before taking a massive bite, vanilla frosting already on his mouth. 

True to his character, Wally had received a birthday bottle of gin from his cousin earlier in the day, having had to walk a mile off campus in the snow with Victor just to pick it up, but allegedly, it was going to be worth it. 

“Okay, ducklings! Sit down, we’re doing presents.” Victor announced with the utmost authority from his perch atop his favorite desk.

“Wait, wait, wait! We gotta do a round of shots first!” Wally looked positively jubilant as he pulled the fresh bottle from out of his bag, mischief firing up in his eyes.

Darcy rolled his eyes, and Conor guessed that he knew his roommate would make him drink along with the rest of them this evening. “Already?" 

“Shut up, Darcy, I’m seventeen.”

Darcy came prepared however, producing a can of lemonade for what was likely a chaser from his own bag with a great sigh. “Whatever, let’s just get to it.”

Victor had stolen four little coffee mugs from the cafeteria that morning, politely leaving Ned out of the equation as he’d very distinctly claimed that he would be the most sober out of them during the proceedings. Wally poured each of them a generous shot of the clear liquid and after a happy birthday/merry Christmas cheers, they downed them in one go, Conor feeling the liquor burn all the way down his throat and making his eyes water.

Victor shivered on reflex, his eyes scrunching up before saying, “Alright, are we good now? We’ll all go around and open our presents, and we each have to guess who we thought our Secret Santa is. Conor, my friend, you go first.”

Conor reached for the box that had been decorated in green wrapping paper with his name on it, a red bow neatly attached to the top. Upon opening it, he let out an audible gasp. 

“What the hell?” He stared into the box, which housed a fresh new pair of cleats that he recognized instantly. “These are like, the best cleats you could get; fucking _professional_ NRL athletes wear these. Should we have had a price limit or something?” These were indeed an _expensive_ pair of shoes.

Victor shrugged. “We’re rich kids; we don’t need price limits. So, who do you think it was?”

Conor narrowed his eyes around the room at each of them before deciding who would care enough about his rugby career to spend this much on him. “I think it was you, Victor.”

Victor chuckled in his usual omniscient way. “Nope." 

“It was me! The Lynch’s have expensive taste.” Darcy said with a flourish.

Before Conor had a chance to thank him, the devil in Wally revealed itself again. “Ooh! New rule, if you guess wrong, you have to take a shot. Drink up, Masters.” 

Conor conceded, looking Wally directly in the eyes as he took his second shot of gin for the evening. He could already feel the buzz of alcohol seeping into his brain, and was determined to make sure Wally knew he was not one to contend with.

“Alright, Darcy, you’re up.”

Darcy reached behind him and pulled out what was clearly a shipping tube straight from the mail, wrapped in red paper. He removed what seemed to be a poster and unrolled it in front of him, letting out a laugh of gleeful confusion.

“What?!” He leaned over and flattened the poster onto the floor, letting everyone see the shiny, blown up version of Lana Del Rey’s Honeymoon album cover. “This is _awesome._ ” His eyes moved around the room, hoping to get a hint from one of their faces. “Hm...I have to guess that Ned got this for me, even though I’m sure I’ve never told any of you fools about my Lana obsession.”

“Sorry, mate.” Ned grinned, not looking terribly surprised.

Conor raised his hand slightly. “It was me, though now I feel like I could’a embellished a bit more.”

“Don’t even worry about it! How the hell did _you_ know, though?”

Victor chimed in, looking incredibly smug. “I told him.” In response to Darcy’s look, he said, “I follow you on Spotify, man; not a day goes by without that album in your recents. Though personally, I don’t get what the big deal is.”

Darcy’s eyes flashed. “Don’t talk to me like that. Ned, it’s your turn.”

“Not before your shot!”

“Jesus, fine, you fiend.”

As Darcy took the obligatory shot that Wally graciously poured for him, Ned unwrapped his own gift. Conor wondered what the mystery friend had gifted his boyfriend and quietly hoped it wasn’t better than the gift he’d gotten for him, waiting in their room. Honestly though, Ned deserved it all, so he put those thoughts to rest as the shots dimmed his mind. He unwrapped his gift and let out laugh that Conor could spend the rest of his days listening to.

He held up a short-sleeved maroon button up shirt, with a large collar and thick black lines running down it, and it was really something that Conor would never wear in his life.

Ned seemed to love it, though.

“This is, like... _perfectly ugly._ This is just...yes. Absolutely!” He looked down and noticed an addition to the package, a new bag of rolling tobacco labeled American Spirit. “Whaaaaat?! This shit is nearly impossible to find around here. This is great; which one of you puppies know me so well?” He only glanced up for a second before it was obvious to him. “Victor, I can’t believe this, thank you!”

Victor put his hands up and smiled back, evidently pleased with himself. “Well, you complained so much about my gift being the best, so I had to deliver. Birthday boy, it’s your time to shine.”

“Ugh, _finally!_ ” Wally’s circular present was tiny, but neatly wrapped to perfection, and Wally looked stupidly excited. He tore the paper to shreds, completely disregarding the handiwork, and that kid fucking _cracked up_ upon seeing what it was. Lost in his mirth, he passed it on to Darcy who threw it to the others after giving it a look of amusement, shaking his head slightly. Conor leaned over to see what had gotten him so good, and in his hand was a button, much like the ones Ned wore on his jacket, with a little illustration on the front. It was an adorable cartoon version of none other than Wallace, sipping on a straw from a bottle labeled Dumb Bitch Juice, in full color.

“Aw, just perfect for you, Wally. Since there’s only one other person left, it’s obvious who your Secret Santa was.” Victor looked pointedly at Ned, who merely shrugged.

“Only the best you, ya’ madman.”

Wally lifted the gin to his mouth. “A celebratory shot to you, Eddie. Amazing birthday present!”

At last it was Victor’s turn, and now that the secret was out, Darcy felt free to judge Wally for his half-assed presentation. Victor’s gift was hidden in a cardboard box with his name written on it in marker, complete with a little Christmas tree doodled next to it.

Victor didn’t seem to mind however, and upon opening the box let out a heartwarming sigh. He held up yet another bottle, this one with the words Phoenix Tears Spiced Rum plastered on the front with an illustration of an intimidating phoenix below it. “You know, what, Wallace? Props to you for listening to me when I tell you about the shit that’ll burn you out of a hangover. Thanks, buddy.”

It took one more round of shots before Darcy called it quits on his end and insisted that the others switch to mixed drinks with the sparkling water he brought along. After shilling out gin and tonic into their respective mugs, Wally sat peering at them, his back against the wall and he proclaimed, “Let’s play Never Have I Ever.”

“It’s your special day, mate, you call the shots.” Conor replied, leaning comfortably against Ned, definitely feeling the sparks of intoxication at this point.

Ned sighed. “I can’t believe I’m about to watch you all get wasted again.”

Wally ignored him. “Darcy, drink with us!”

“Not a chance! I’m getting on a plane to Berlin tomorrow, and I’ve already hit my limit. Ned and I are gonna be drinking water, thanks.” He tossed a can of the sparkling water over to Ned, who caught it with a chuckle.

“Alright then, I’m going first since I already thought of one for you geniuses.” Victor sat up straight, only swaying the smallest amount. “Never have I ever been hungover during practice.”

“Ah, I see how it’s gonna be.” Wally said, taking a swig from his mug. Victor and Ned were the only ones who hadn’t experienced the ruthlessness of Pascal after a night of drinking.

They went around in a circle, and Wally thought for a moment before looking at Conor with evil in his eyes. “Never have I ever kissed a boy.” He said it with an air of scandalous drama. Ned and Conor alone took sips from their own drinks and Conor was reminded of a specific Sunday morning in Ned’s bed. He may or may not have taken a larger swig than he intended.

Darcy smirked and looked at Wally seated beside him. “Never have I ever failed a test.”

“Oh, why?”

“Because fuck you, honestly.”

“You’re a mean drunk.”

“I’m an honest man.”

It was now Ned’s turn, (Conor cheated and refrained from drinking on the last one just to see Wally suffer) and he was apparently choosing his words wisely. “Never have I _ever_ checked out other boys in the rugby locker room, be for science, curiosity, or miserable lack of confidence.”

Victor shuddered after his drink and said, “Ah, Ned that’s not fair; everyone does that.”

And indeed it was true, _everyone_ did that, and it was thus proven as the four of them drank. “That’s precisely why it’s fair.”

Conor’s turn was more out of curiosity than vengeance, but he still looked at Wally as he said it. “Never have I ever kissed a _girl."_

Victor, Wally, and Darcy all took sips, and Wally winked back at him as they did so.

“Darcy, you scoundrel!” Wally proclaimed. “Who’d you kiss?”

“Nobody you’d know. Damn, primary school sure was a _wild_ time.”

 

Throughout two more rounds of Never Have I Ever, the boys became progressively more intoxicated, though this came as a surprise to absolutely none of them. Wallace was deliriously pleased with his job of getting his friends drunk, beaming at all of them with rosy cheeks and a happily dazed expression. Victor was sprawled out across the desk as though it was his own bed, legs hanging off the side and staring up at the ceiling, mug loosely in his hand.

“Never have I everrr…cried during a Disney movie.”

Conor whipped his head to the side as though he’d been slapped, gaping at him through his own fuzziness. “Victor! I told you that in confidence!” Nevertheless, he took a drink. At the beginning of this round, Darcy had insisted that the flow of alcohol ceased, and would refill their mugs with sparkling water as they dried up. Conor’s arm was wrapped comfortably around Ned’s shoulders, though he didn’t really remember when they moved closer together.

“Dude, Fox and the Hound is a fuckin’ _sad_ movie! I cried so much the firs’ time I saw it, my sisters threw out the DVD.” Wally was draped over his roommate, using his thighs as a makeshift pillow and Conor thought that maybe he’d succeeded in getting him more drunk than he was. He took a drink, apparently forgetting his position, and successfully spilling water down his shirt and neck. Darcy snorted and rolled his eyes, his elbow resting on a chair beside him.

Ned also took a swig from his own mug. “You people are just heartless. Dumbo’s the saddest movie I’ve ever seen in my life.”

“As long as we can all agree that Titanic doesn’t deserve any tears. They knew each other for like, a week, and I’m just upset that no one saw a huge iceberg in front of them.” Darcy interjected.

Conor had started playing with Ned’s hair without really realizing it, and the gin was making any feelings of embarrassment completely null. “Yeah but…Lennard Di’Capio was _so_ hot in the nineties.” He had no idea where he was going with that thought; something about floating in the ocean.

Victor cackled, his mug slipping from his hand and shattering onto the floor with a crash. He didn’t seem to notice or care in the slightest, however. Hiccuping, he said, “Yeah, that Lennard’s a good guy; he deserved that Oscar.”

Jumping from the crash, Darcy announced that it was past time to disperse for the evening and go to bed. Wally complained as much as he could, the party animal never ceasing to amaze, but after as stern a look as Darcy could muster through his tipsiness, he eventually agreed, however reluctantly.

The boys eventually slumped out of the room one by one, opting to leave their bags until they could gather them in the morning. Ned took Conor’s hand as he led him out the door, until Conor stopped him.

He pulled him gently in by the hand until they were face to face, and he looked into Ned’s wide blue eyes. Christ, he really was _so pretty._ His whole face was mesmerizing, and he could’ve looked at him forever. He should probably say something.

“Hi.” He said with the dopiest fucking grin.

Ned gave him the most adorable laugh and looked right back at him. “Hi, how are ya’?”

“Absolutely just fuckin’…amazing. Good. Cool.” He leaned down and kissed him, almost missing his mouth.

Ned let out a tiny gasp and turned around to look behind him at the door, as though it being open had any consequence in an empty building at…what time was it? He turned back around though, and kissed him back with a little smile, his hand still in Conor’s.

A stroke of genius hit him like a brick. “Come with me.”

 

* * *

 

“What?”

And with a sudden surge of energy, Conor gripped Ned’s hand a little tighter and led him out the door. Where was he planning to go other than their dorm? He had a hard time feeling anything other than amusement though, as Conor ushered him down the stairs and out of the building, keeping their hands together all the time.

“Conor, where are we going? It’s one in the morning!” He whispered once they stepped outside. Conor was looking like such a fool, standing with his back to every wall and looking diligently into the darkness, like he was undercover and they were in danger of getting caught. He continued to let him lead him on into the icy grounds, and soon enough, Ned figured out where they were headed.

Once the two reached the pool locker room, Conor leaned against the door as though they had accomplished the most difficult feat. “You still got the, uh…keys?”

Luckily, the pool key was permanently in his coat pocket, Ned never having thought to remove it. He could always swallow it if Gerard ever suspected anything. Once he unlocked the heavy door, Conor just about fell into the freezing room. Ned really should’ve been insisting that they go back to their dorm, but he was still feeling the consistent joy of their evening. Conor stumbled on in, and, barely letting Ned lock the door behind them, took his hand again and brought him down on the floor against the lockers with him.

Ned looked at him, expecting some kind of explanation, but his partner only looked back at him with the purest of fondness in his eyes. His heart softened a little.

“So? What are we doing here and not in our room?”

Conor kissed him like that was a valid response, and against his mouth said, “I dunno. I just wanna be…loud. I’m not ready to go to sleep.”

Ned blushed, hearing how that sounded, but he knew what Conor was trying to say. “Alright, but it’s absolutely frigid in here.”

Conor smiled like a new idea had struck him. “Okay then.” And he pushed Ned forward a few inches, which made him feel a little jolted, and shimmied his way behind him, wrapping his arms around the smaller boy’s waist. Ned wondered when, if ever, his heart would relax when Conor came at him with such affection, and he began to settle into him.

“Waaiit…I can’t kiss you like this!” Conor made it sound like it was the most tragic thing to ever happen to him, and Ned sighed, feeling no real irritation whatsoever. He swung his body around to face him, draping his legs around Conor’s hips and placing the other’s hands back on his waist.

“This better?”

“Yeah!” And Conor kissed him like it was the first time all over again. Ned never wanted to get over how warm he was as he put his arms around his neck, and embraced the alcohol induced heat. Seeing him drunk was just as fun as Wally made it sound like it would be; this guy was indeed such a sap, and somehow even the liquor on his breath was endearing.

Conor broke into sudden laughter as they kissed, almost making Ned vibrate.

“What’s so funny?”

“I dunno.” He chuckled, leaning back, his face as warm as the rest of him, and his laughter infectious. Ned, at a loss for words and unable to keep himself away, put his lips to Conor's before he pulled back about an inch from him, looking so sincerely at his face and deep into his eyes.

“Ned…Neddie, Nedwin…you’re so fuckin’ cute. Like you’re just, _so good!_ So good.”

Ned smirked and suppressed another laugh. “You think so?”

Conor’s fingers toyed with the fabric of his shirt. “Oh. My. God. Yes!” Like it was so obvious. “I don’t even know how to _deal_ with it sometimes. First time I saw you through that wall you made I was like, ‘Oh my God. Look at him!' And I just like…wanna look at you all the time, ya know? No matter what color your hair is.”

Ned knew that this was the gin talking, but felt these words down to his bones all the same. Conor had been staring at him since his second shot of the night, and thought he might never admit it, he loved the attention. The only thing Ned could do was smile at him, and suddenly Conor’s eyes widened in shock.

“Oh my God, your present’s still in the room! I gotta give it to you! I hope you like it, I was freakin’ out about what to get’cha.” His face when through a string of emotions while he spoke, and Ned loved him for it.

“Conor, I don’t care what you got me; I love it already.” He kissed him again to further prove his point, and Conor seemed to relax at the touch. With his hands on his ribs he pulled him closer, Ned no longer felt the chill of the room around them, and they melted into each other once again. Even though Conor was inebriated beyond a shadow of a doubt, and it showed in the way his mouth moved without any real intention or technique, Ned felt like he could float off the ground at any moment. He’d say that he was tipsy if he had even a drop of alcohol, but the way his heart was fluttering could send him to the moon and back.

“Merry Christmas, handsome.” He said with his hands in his boyfriend’s hair.

Conor closed his eyes and hummed in apparent bliss, before his brows furrowed a little. “‘M gonna miss you, Neddie. I’m gonna be in America, and I’m gonna miss ya’” He leaned forward and rested his head between Ned’s neck and shoulder. “I don’t wanna leave you all by yourself.”

Ned honestly could’ve cried, even though the nickname made him cringe. How on earth did he get so lucky? He placed a small kiss on Conor’s temple and said, “I’ll miss you, too. But don’t worry about me, okay? I’ll be here when you get back. And I’ll text you so much that you’ll get sick of me.”

The brunette looked up at him as though he’d said something insulting. _"No way!_ I could never get sick of ya’, that’s just crazy. No no no, I’ll be callin’ you, no worries.”

They held each other for quite some time, and Ned really thought about the fact that this would be their last night together until the new year, but strangely, he didn’t feel sad. All he felt in Conor’s arms was this indescribable _fullness_ , with the promise that they’d be together again. Not once did he think that any of his feelings for him were a phase, or simply a product of a heat of the moment; he felt a brand new wholeness when they were together. But if any of those doubts had been within him, they were swept away as he felt Conor breathing against his chest.  

Tomorrow, he’d be home again, settling back into an empty house, and he didn’t know if he’d feel lonely or not. He didn’t know if he’d ever feel lonely again, knowing that Conor was out there in the world, being warm, and honest, and _wonderful._  

“We’ll have to exchange phone numbers.” This idea was hilarious to him, and he laughed softly into Conor’s shoulder. How strange that people could get to know each other so well these days without having communicated in any other way than face to face.

After a few minutes, it was obvious that Conor was nearly falling asleep in his arms, and he began to feel his own exhaustion take over. He almost regretted being half a mile away from their dorms, wrapped up in each other on a glacial cement floor.

He roused his bleary companion and it took little effort to convince him to take the snowy trek back to their room, but Ned’s body immediately protested the sudden lack of warmth. Once returned to their building, he just about had to lug Conor up the stairs, all the while trying to remain as silent as possible. Ned hoped he’d never have to carry his boyfriend while he was unconscious, because _shit,_ this boy was heavy.

 

At last, they were inside with their bedroom door closed tight, and Conor didn’t even bother to take off his shoes before he flopped onto Ned’s bed, his eyes already shut.

Ned walked over to him and began to untie his boyfriend's shoelaces for him. “Don’t you wanna exchange presents before you pass out?”

Conor let out a small groan, even though he was smiling. He sat up once his shoes were off and ran a hand down his face before standing back up, swaying slightly on his feet. He sleepily made his way to his wardrobe and fished around for a moment before revealing a box wrapped in shimmering white paper. He sat down on his desk chair and handed the box to Ned slowly, as though he was still unsure about whether or not to give it to him.

Ned placed the box on the desk and unwrapped it, his hands shaking a little with some kind of nerves. The last time someone gave him a present to unwrap before that night was so many years ago, and his heart was beating like it remembered.

He opened to box to reveal a neatly folded sweater and held it in front of him to inspect, a positively giddy feeling exploding in his chest. It was definitely oversized, which he loved at once, and had thick grey, black, and red stripes across it. It was just as vintage and worn as the previous gift was, and _fuck_ did his friends know him well. The wool was surprisingly soft against his fingertips, and without thinking he held it close to his chest, embracing this inexplicable feeling.

“You like it?” Conor asked.

Ned turned and threw his arms around him without a trace of hesitation, nearly knocking him over and using all of his willpower to keep his euphoria quiet.

He whispered into Conor’s hair, “I love it so fucking much. Thank you.”

Conor held him tight and breathed into his chest, and before he drifted off again, Ned wanted to give him his own gift. He tore himself away and walked over to his own desk, pulling out a folded paper with Conor’s name on it from one of the drawers.  

He handed it to him, and Conor looked up at him with a soft smile, holding it like it was the most delicate thing in the world. “Can I read it?”

Ned’s heart skipped a beat. “Well yeah, but not right now! Read it when your on your own and sober.” Conor pouted at him, his eyes hazy. “I doubt you’d even remember it if you read it now.”

He lifted Conor’s chin and kissed him once more. “Come on, let’s go to bed; you haven’t even packed yet, and tomorrow’s gonna be a bitch.”

 

* * *

 

_I know that God’s real, and he’s looking at me beaming like a complete dumbass during all hours of the day._

_I know that God’s real, and I’ve never felt more blessed._

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow! It's past midnight and I'm tipsy, but it's finally done. Thank you so MUCH to everyone who has sent me the most wonderful comments, shit like that really motivates me to keep developing the story, and I have all of you in mind as I'm writing and outlining <3 So keep sending me feedback! Any theories about what's going on with the boys? Can you tell that I just watched Beyonce's Homecoming on Netflix? Can you tell that I LOVE Lana Del Rey? Darcy's character developed all on its own, and I think he shares my music taste. I frequently forget that he's an OC, and whenever I watch the movie, I catch myself looking for him.
> 
> And yes, the rum, the  shirt, and the sweater are all real things that I looked up, and the Dumb Bitch Juice is a real pin that I got for one of my bffs~
> 
> I'll get started on the next chapters as soon as I can, and I have PLANS. Thanks so much for sticking with me, ya'll :)


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Winter break part one!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well hi there, it's been a while! Thanks for being so patient with me; this chapter took FOREVER. I also got sick again, so that was fun.
> 
> It's the chapter I and I alone have been waiting for: winter break! It's almost 16k (the longest chapter I've ever written) and it's 68 pages in Google Docs, so I hope that makes up for the wait. I only proof-read the whole thing once, so I apologize for any mistakes. It has some elements I've been really excited to write, and it makes me so happy that I have readers that are so down with this story.
> 
> So at last, I present you all with...the group chat ;)

 

 

_I almost thought Conor wasn’t gonna wake up this morning; he was nearly catatonic in his hangover, completely unresponsive to any external stimulus. I let him sleep for as long as I could, hoping no one would burst in and notice that he was sleeping in the wrong bed while I did my best to pack for him. He’s already got me whipped, so I stole one of his hoodies as payment. He doesn’t have to know about it yet. I’d almost forgotten that we left all our shit on the top floor until Darcy came around to give all of us our respective gifts. He rolled his eyes when he saw Conor passed out amidst all the commotion, and said he’d have to drag Wallace out by his feet when his time came to be picked up._

_Conor was so out of his mind that before he left, he tried to kiss me with the door open, and I almost smacked him. As much as I wish we lived in a kinder world where people benignly mind their own business, I don’t think even the Christmas spirit would’ve let that slide. I actually briefly met his mum, and that was...okay. She’s a very proper, clean cut woman, and as I was shaking her hand all I could think was ‘Hi, I’m your son’s boyfriend, and I’m very excited for him to top me one day.’ It’s so strange and oddly satisfying that she doesn’t know how smitten he is for me._

_Anyway, I hope everything goes smoothly for him at home before he flies to America. The only way his parents would let him go is if he agreed to stay with them for a few days first. Conor doesn’t talk about his dad much, but I know a little of the tough spot he’s in, especially after coming out at school._

 

* * *

 

 

Ned’s train was due to leave the station about two hours after Conor had left, and the school was considerate enough to have a shuttle deliver students who wouldn’t be picked up to the nearest train station. His parents only flew back to the country to take him to school at the beginning of each term; probably so they could be reminded of what he looks like, and he was perfectly fine with that. The ride was long, and his comfort was steadily growing with every mile that passed between him and campus. At last, he would take a well deserved break from the noise of rambunctious teenage boys, and though his anxiety had decreased tremendously over the past few months, he finally felt like he didn’t need to be on red alert. The landscape passing by was as snowy grey as the day before, and, notebook in his lap, he thought about how this holiday felt more like an actual break than a desperate escape. Sure, the chances of him getting assaulted over the next two weeks were dramatically lower, but the knowledge that he had something to return to in the new year sparked a new glimmer of joy within him.

Oh, and he got his phone back too, which had never been more exciting.

 

_2:14 pm_

_Conor: Hi Neddie I miss ya_

 

_Me: Are you still drunk? You haven’t had time to miss me yet_

 

_Conor: Hmm maybe I’m still fucked up for sure_

 

_Me: I was gonna ask how you’re feeling but I think I got the gist_

_Conor: I mean I felt better after making my mum pull over so I could throw up_

_Conor: I told her I’m just sick but idk if she believes me_

_Me: Sorry, but she probably knows you’re hungover. You were a mess when she came up the stairs, and I see that look on Darcy’s face all the time_

_Conor: Oh well, god knows she’s used to it_

_Conor: We just got home and I’m nervous to see my dad. Who knows where he is_

 

_Me: I know, but I think you should just sleep for a while. And there’s no reason for him to know anything’s different, right?_

_Conor: Yeah, and he was happy (drunk) last time I saw him, but even ‘good’ with him is questionable_

_Conor: Sorry I’m just stressed and sicker than shit, sorry I was such a mess this morning. And last night, probably_

_Me: Conor it’s fiiiiiine, everything’s gonna be fine. And I don’t know if you remember it, but last night was perfect_

_Conor: I remember most of it <3_

_Me: Have you read my note…?_

_Conor: Not yet, I wanna be 100% lucid_

_Me: Okay Conor, get some rest and feel better_

_Me: Drink LOTS of water_

_Conor: You look cute in that sweater btw_

 

* * *

 

_Coming home for the first time after a while always feels kinda strange. Every time I come back, everything looks a little smaller._

 

* * *

 

The house stood strong and steady on Ned’s childhood street, like a tree that never grew any taller. As he trekked forward with his bags over his shoulders, he felt like he was approaching a distant figure from his past, one that was growing moss on the porch and looking more off-white than ever against the snow. It was literally cold as ice as he made his way to the door, almost slipping on the steps, and once his eyes found it, he could never look away. The dark brown paint was slowly beginning to crack, and he wondered when he’d have to call someone to check on the wiring. Maybe during the summer.

He set down a bag and fished the keys out of his pocket, taking a deep breath. This house had presence, and maybe he was the only one who knew it, but it seemed like it was vibrating towards him, and its energy bounced off of him as he put the key in the lock. Opening the door, he stepped over the threshold into his past, and _Jesus_ was it cold. He looked around the deserted space; over the living room, dining room, the windows, and forcing his eyes towards the staircase.

“I’m home.” He whispered.

The house was thoroughly untouched, and he first walked over to the far wall to turn the heat on as high as it would go and light the fireplace. His mind and body were already anxious to begin his return home ritual, to breathe a little bit of life back into the walls and kickstart his personal Christmas. He kicked off his shoes and removed his coat, shivering in the frigid temperatures, and swiftly got to work.

His habits had always been a source of comfort for him, and somehow felt like it was the right way to do things. Rolling up his sleeves, he started an old jazz playlist he’d made ages ago and turned it up loud enough to hear through the whole house. She _loved_ jazz, and this felt like the perfect way to say hello again. The first item on his list was going upstairs, holding onto the railing (as he always did the first time around,) and unpack his bedding from the closet. As soon as it became an unspoken fact that he would be the only one to ever live in the house, he moved the queen size mattress from the guest bedroom into his own room. He made the bed to his satisfaction, inhaling the smell of the fabric softener they’d always had. He unpacked his clothes into his closet and dresser, and so would begin the next phase.

The house always accumulated an impressive amount of dust, and he softly sang along to the music as he dusted, swept, and vacuumed every inch he could find. Once he started cleaning, he could never stop; with each chore he felt himself settle back into the building and it began to feel more and more like home again. He washed every dish in the cabinets, knowing full well that he wouldn’t use them all, cleaned every appliance, and turned each faucet to a drip to wake up the pipes after months of disuse. It felt mindless and warm, like he was re-introducing himself as the chill dissipated. He knew it was pointless and a waste of electricity to open the windows, but the place needed to _breathe_ again, almost like it had to get used to him being back as well, even though he thought it was stupid.

After an amount of time that he didn’t bother to check, Ned took another deep breath and walked around, making sure every nook and cranny was up to his standards. When he deemed the home habitable, he finally relaxed. There obviously wasn’t any perishable food in the kitchen, so he sat down with a cup of tea at the island and prepared a shopping list for the next day. He was actually _very_ good at cooking (something he knew many of his peers couldn’t say,) having taught himself in the years he spent on his own. In the meantime, he heated up a can of soup and thought about the night ahead of him.

Usually he had trouble falling asleep on his first night away from campus, suddenly surrounded by silence and emptiness, but any hesitancy he’d felt in recent years was now nowhere to be found. When he was younger he’d wake up in a cold sweat, feeling like he was drowning in a vacant house that wasn’t his own. Was it the passage of time that eased his apprehension? Even so, night had already fallen, and he still felt like there was something else he needed to do. Something to make the house feel _full_ in some way. Usually he’d wait a couple days before setting up the Christmas decorations, a tradition that became easier as the years passed, but tonight, he followed the urge to unpack and put up all of the string lights they had. He pinned them around the living room, above the mantle and the windows, stood on top of the kitchen counter and hung them over the cabinets; placing them anywhere they would fit until he ran out. He didn’t save any for the Christmas tree he’d later put up, so he made a mental note to get more on his trip the next day.

And finally, _finally_ , the house felt like he lived there again. Feeling extremely comfortable and proud of his efforts, Ned threw himself on the couch in front of the fireplace, wearing pyjama pants and his new favorite sweater. He set a glass of wine from one of the bottles that he’d been rationing on the coffee table, and settled into his journal.

 

_Hey, Mum. I’m back home for Christmas now, and I feel more ready for it every time. I remember sitting on this couch, wrapped up in your arms until I fell asleep, and I used to think I’d never feel that way again. I remember how much of a thing Christmas was for you, and how you’d wake me up in the morning to open presents instead of the other way around. How did you have so much energy? It’d be seven in the morning and you had already made hot cocoa, singing carols down the hall, like every Christmas was the best day ever. With you, it was._

_I don’t know, I used to think that I’d never celebrate it again, but a lot of my ideas have been changing lately. I never thought I’d believe in God again either, but now I talk to him all the time. Thanks to my friends, I think I’m starting to get into the spirit again. The decorations, the tree, going to church on Christmas Eve, I’ll do it all for you._

_As you know, I met someone who changed my life. The most wonderful people who’ve completely turned it around. Out of nowhere, I’m smiling all the time and feeling good about nothing at all. I should know as well as anyone how much life can change in an instant, and yet somehow, I never saw this coming. I didn’t think I was particularly unhappy, I just subconsciously thought genuine joy was years away. Your happiness always seemed self-sustaining, and it makes me wonder if Dad ever made you feel this way. I really hope he did at one point, but I’m tired of being angry about it._

_I’m just so grateful, you know?_

_Conor makes me feel as special as you did; that boy is into me beyond a shadow of a doubt. And I can’t deny that I am too. We’re so different, and I don’t even know what it is that makes us so good for each other. He’s kind of quiet, and so sweet and genuine that I keep asking myself what I did to bring him into my life; so I guess I just have a higher power to thank for that, because I really can’t think of anything else. I’m so lucky to have our friends too, and if it weren’t for him, maybe I never would’ve gotten to know them at all. They make me feel seen and heard, and I’ve spent so long feeling the complete opposite._

_I learned a long time ago that I’d be different whether I was gay or not, and thought that I’d never feel accepted. At least, not until I left school. I didn’t even realize how much I kept my head down, because I was too busy pretending that I wasn’t lonely or scared. But I would hide all the time, convincing myself that everyone was too shallow for me, when really, I was just worried about them lashing out. I hid myself away until they pulled me out of the shadows, and for the first time in forever, I feel like I’m finally looking up. What do I do with all this sincerity?_

_So yeah, I love you. And I’m happy to be home._

 

* * *

 

Ned opened his eyes the next morning feeling like he had woken up in heaven. The sun was actually peering through the clouds into his window for a change, and his sheets were warmer and softer than he remembered. Oh, and this _mattress_. He was wrapped up in a cloud with a thread count in the thousands, and his first thoughts were taken to wondering how he’d managed to sleep on what was essentially a prison bed for four months. He spent as long as he pleased appreciating how he could freely move around as much as he wanted, stretching out as far as he could, caccooning himself in the down blanket, and not a single spring could be heard.

This was paradise.

Eventually, he picked up his phone off the side table, and unlocked it to find a string of messages from Conor.

 

_11:58 pm_

_Conor: I JUST woke up._

_Conor: I’m feeling a whole lot better but I just drank like 3 litres of water in about five minutes_

_Conor: Hope I’m not waking you up_

_12:21 am_

_Conor: Thankfully didn’t see my dad today, I was too busy being in a coma_

_Conor: Have you seen some of the LGBT movies on Netflix? They’re so fucking weird, and they all have really vague names_

_Conor: Like I’m watching the Pass and it’s...uncomfortable. But I guess I can relate_

_3:42 am_

_Conor: I’m watching Adore. Do yourself a favor and don’t ever watch it._

_Conor: Like what the actual FUCK_

 

_4:23 am_

_Conor: Who wrote this shit? Why did they do it? Why am I watching a film adaptation of someone’s weird sexual fantasy?_

_Conor: It’s not gay, btw_

_4:45 am_

_Conor: WHO APPROVED OF THIS MOVIE_

_Conor: Australia is so weird man, these scenic shots do nothing to distract me from how uncomfortable I am_

_Conor: I don’t even wanna tell you what this is about, I value you too much_

_Conor: I’ll definitely tell Wally though_

_5:51 am_

_Conor: My sleep schedule is fucked, maybe I’ll just become nocturnal until I go see Janey_

_8:39 am_

_Me: ???_

 

Chuckling under the sheets and smiling uncontrollably, Ned peeled himself from the bed and made his way across the hall to take a shower. Oh, how he dreamt about this shower during the school year. At last, he could actually bathe without having to wear sandals or worry if there’d be any hot water left. He had complete privacy; playing music from his phone to fill the welcome silence, and he just stood under the water, letting himself fully relax. For once, he didn’t have to listen to any dick measuring contests or taunts that he’d heard a million times before. He had all of his beloved bath products lined up next to him, and took much longer than necessary before he stepped back out into the steamy room. This was the luxury he deserved.

 

_9:26 am_

_Conor: I really don’t even know_

_Me: Did you sleep at all?_

_Conor: Yeah, a little._

_Me: I slept in your hoodie last night_

_Conor: :0 which one?_

_Me: The grey one, very comfortable, 9/10_

_Conor: Damn, not a full 10?_

_Conor: Shoulda sent me a pic_

_Me: Well, you weren’t in it, so that’s as good as it gets_

_Me: MAYBE_

_9:35 am_

_Victor: Heyyyyyyyyy_

_Victor added Conor, Wally, and Darcy to the chat_

_Victor: GOOD MORNING GUYS how are we all feeling today?_

_Ned: Oh my_

_Wally: HIIIIIIIII_

_Darcy: Should’ve known._

_Conor: Oh hey_

_Victor: Everyone good after Wally’s bday?_

_Darcy: Um NO, I still haven’t recovered from Wallace throwing up at 6 am._

_Wally: oh PLEASE it wasnt that bad_

_Ned set the chat name to Puppy Parade_

_Victor: Cute_

_Darcy: You barely made it out the door and you were still too drunk to open it. And I hate you._

_Conor: HA I at least waited until I left school to get sick! Guess I win, asshole_

_Darcy set Wally’s nickname to Dumb Bitch_

_Dumb Bitch: ill get u one day masters_

_Dumb Bitch: ill get some kinda blackmail on ya, mark my words_

_Victor: You could just ask Ned, I’m sure he’s got some_

_Ned: UM_

_Dumb Bitch: NED HOW ARE YOU_

_Ned: Dude you saw me yesterday, I’m good_

_Dumb Bitch: yeah but u miss us_

_Ned: Hmm not yet_

_Ned: Don’t have to deal with your asses during breakfast for two weeks ^ω^_

_Victor: RUDE_

_Victor: My mums make a mean waffle breakfast tho_

_Conor: My mum hasn’t cooked a day in her life, let me come over_

_Darcy: When are you going to California???_

_Conor: In like 2 days thank god_

_Dumb Bitch: c u later saps im gonna go see the girl of my dreams_

_Victor: Um whom??_

_Victor: Excuse me_

_Ned: Victor’s short circuiting cause he doesn’t know the gossip_

_Dumb Bitch: umm sarah?????_

_Darcy: Yeah this is news to me, I’m Shook._

_Dumb Bitch: how have i not said anything about her we’ve known each other since we were five and ive been in love with her ever since_

_Victor: Aww uwu_

_Victor: Ned did YOU know??_

_Ned: Nope_

_Conor: He’s a mysterious guy_

_Conor: WAIT WALLY I gotta tell you about this movie I watched_

_Ned: Oh my God_

_Conor: It’s called Adore and it’s so fucking weird but I know you’d be into it cause you’re such a freak_

_Darcy: OH MY GOD I’VE SEEN THAT AHAHA_

_Darcy: Funniest shit I’ve ever seen in my life._

_Darcy: Also biggest waste of my time._

_Dumb Bitch: hmm?????_

_Darcy: It’s just like...big milf action. Don’t watch it._

_Dumb Bitch: well now i have to_

_Dumb Bitch: is it on netflix_

_Conor: YES_

_Victor: I’m...intrigued?_

_Ned: I’m not_

_Dumb Bitch: I AM okay bye guys_

_Victor: Bye have fun ;)_

_Darcy: Finally we can talk shit, hate that guy._

_Dumb Bitch: Q_Q darcy why_

 

* * *

 

Ned was huddled up on the back porch, smoking his new gift while regretfully wrapped up in his coat against the wind.

 

_10:29 am_

_Dad: Hi son, did you make it to the house okay?_

_Me: Yeah I need grocery money_

_Dad: Alright_

 

_5:06pm_

_Conor: Hi boyfriend_

_Me: Hey what's up :)_

_Conor: My mum made me go shopping for a present for my dad and it kinda pissed me off so wyd_

_Me: Just got back from shopping since there’s no real food around here, I had to take an Uber home. Might put up the rest of the Xmas decorations tonight? I’m not sure yet_

_Me: How are things going with him?_

_Conor: I don't know, it's kinda obvious that I've been trying to avoid him and no one's happy about it. Part of me wants to try to spend time with him but after everything that happened, it's impossible to ignore it_

_Me: You never told me what happened_

_Me: Not that you have to_

_Conor: I know, I just don't like to talk about it that much. It's easier to forget it at school_

_Conor: But basically after we won the quarter finals he said I was “his son again” because I played so well, not the queer that had rumors about him_

_Conor: So I know he only sees me as his son if I'm straight and good at rugby, and I can't make myself be something that I'm not. I don’t even want to_

_Me: I hear you._

_Me: I'm sorry Conor_

_Conor: It's okay, I wouldn't give up what happened for anything. And I definitely don't wish I was straight, not anymore_

_Me: Yeah me neither. I used to though_

_Conor: Really?_

_Me: Yeah, for a little while I thought it would make people see me as less of an outcast. But being punk and heavily on the left, I don't think that was ever gonna happen regardless of my sexuality_

_Conor: You fit right in with me_

_Me: I know <3_

_Conor: You miss me yet?_

_Me: Hmm a little ;)_

_Me: My bed's almost too big for me_

_Conor: What a shame_

_Me: You watch any decent movies last night?_

_Conor: Yeah I watched one called Boy Meets Girl that was really good. Stupid name, but it was cool and I almost cried at the end. It's about this trans girl in the US and it wasn't one of those things where she's struggling all the time for acceptance, the people in her life already love her just the way she is_

_Me: Oh shit I'll have to check it out_

_Me: I didn't know you were into such sappy movies, which Disney one made you cry?_

_Conor: …_

_Conor: Bridge to Terabithia_

_Me: Oh DUDE don't even get me started on that one, I cried for a full day when I saw it_

_Me: Don't go falling into any rivers, okay?_

_Conor: Promise_

 

* * *

 

_Being cooped up in boarding school really changes one’s perception on the concept of freedom. If I had gone to public school, there would nothing at all exciting about going to the shop, thinking about which meals I’ll be making for the next two weeks. But there’s something so liberating about choosing the exact ingredients I’ll be cooking with. Who knows, there might be brainwashing chemicals in the school meals, used to shape us into docile, conforming citizens to work for the powers that be. I’d say that the school should sponsor more class trips if it weren’t for the embarrassment I’d have to endure being around my peers in public._

_Some of my neighbors have noticed my presence, and I’d give anything for them to stop looking at me like that._

 

* * *

 

_9:19 pm_

_Conor: Wanna facetime?_

 

Ned was nestled comfortably on the couch in front of the fireplace, his favorite spot second only to his ethereal bed. Seconds before his phone screen lit up to announce the upcoming video chat, he let himself grin like a lovesick school boy and propped the phone up on the coffee table with reckless abandon. This was the first time he’d get to hear his boyfriend’s voice in almost two whole days, and he had wondered how long it’d take for Conor to give in and call him first. Not that he was waiting for it or anything.

Conor’s face popped up on the screen and Ned hated himself for the way his heart skipped at least three beats at the sight of his pretty brown eyes.

“Hi, Ned.”

“Hey, Conor.”

“You look awfully cozy.”

This was certain, as Ned had wrapped himself up in two fuzzy throw blankets like a little blond burrito.

“Well, I have to keep myself warm while I’m here; I have a lot to compensate for until I have you to share a bed with again.” Conor grinned and shifted his eyes. “How’s your own bedroom?”

“How’d you know I’m in my room?” He was leaning against a wall, and likely holding his phone close enough to him that Ned couldn’t see his surroundings.

Ned shrugged. “I guessed that’s where you’d be hiding out. What’ve you been up to in the long three hours since we’ve spoken?”

“Not a whole lot. I tried to go for a run, but I slipped on some ice and fell on my ass about ten minutes in and had to walk back. I’m still sore. What’re you up to?”

Ned curled up on his side, not daring to look away from the screen. “Made some dinner earlier, and now I’m watching the Crown. I always like to start my holidays with mind melting Netflix binges.”

Conor raised his eyebrows slightly. “Hm, I didn’t think that’d be your kinda thing.”

“Well, I like to keep as much in the know about British colonization as I can. Besides, high class drama’s my guilty pleasure.”

Conor laughed softly and rolled onto his stomach atop of what was revealed to be his bed. He ran a hand through his hair, eyes directly into the camera and Ned was happy to just look at him.

“I also read your letter today.”

Ned’s heart dropped into his stomach, even though he knew there was absolutely nothing to worry about. He pulled the blanket up further in an attempt to hide the blush creeping up his neck.

“And…?”

Conor gave him a look of such tenderness that he could’ve floated away to the heavens had it not been for the cushions preventing most of his movement. His heart felt like it was being squeezed by invisible strings and he had to remind himself to breathe.

“And I just wish I was there to show you how much that means to me. You make me _really_ happy, Ned.”

Ned buried his face into the arm rest as though it would hide this euphoric feeling. Conor chuckled and he chanced another look at him. “Least I could do.”

Conor rested his chin on one hand with a look of adorable smugness. “So you miss me now?”

Ned emerged from his imaginary cave and reached for his phone, like it could even compare to having his partner any closer to him. Unable to suppress a laugh, he said, “Yeah, Conor. I miss ya.”

“About time, cause you know I miss you. The only way I'll get through talking to my dad is thinking about you.”

God, could he be more insufferably _perfect?_ Ned didn’t think he’d ever felt more exposed, but he supposed that’s what he gets for revealing a shred of his heart and soul out to him on paper. He had to do something to even the emotional playing field before he inevitably burst into flames.

“So…what would you do if you _were_ here?”

 

* * *

 

_I genuinely don’t know how to deal with this much goodness._

 

* * *

 

 

_Puppy Parade_

_6:37 pm_

_Dumb Bitch: hi boys_

_Dumb Bitch: can i have a new nickname?_

_Darcy: Sure._

_Darcy set Wally's nickname to Disaster Boy_

_Disaster Boy: alright then_

_Wally set Darcy's nickname to Honeybunch_

_Honeybunch: ???_

_Victor: Wally how'd it go????????_

_Victor: Tell me everything_

_Honeybunch: Have some restraint, Victor._

_Victor: Pfft whatever_

_Disaster Boy: it was awesome she still laughs at all my jokes_

_Disaster Boy: shes so cool_

_Ned: So is she like, your girlfriend?_

_Honeybunch: If Wally did have a girlfriend, he'd never shut up about it._

_Honeybunch: Which is why I'm CONFUSED._

_Disaster Boy: pretty much :)_

_Victor: I can't believe this_

_Victor: What'd you guys do???_

_Disaster Boy: wouldnt u like to know ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)_

_Conor: :0_

_Victor: Uhh yeah!_

_Disaster Boy: nothin we just walked around and caught up_

_Disaster Boy: we had a snowball fight and i let her win :)_

_Honeybunch: Victor, I bet you don't snoop this much with Conor and Ned._

_Ned: Nope and please don't start_

_Victor: I meaannnnn_

_Victor: Anythin you wanna share?_

_Ned: NOOOOOOO_

_Disaster Boy: ;)_

_Disaster Boy: conor ur being too quiet_

_Conor: ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ He's making it sound worse than it is_

_Ned: I mean, I'd probably tell Darcy if he asked_

_Honeybunch: I'm honored._

_Victor: What why????_

_Ned: Idk cause he's not a smug piece of shit_

_Disaster Boy: debatable_

_Victor: Conorrrrr_

_Conor: Ha not a chance_

_Victor set his nickname to Tall Boi_

_Honeybunch: Is that the only discernible trait you could think of?_

_Disaster Boy: where is the lie tho, guys like a fuckin tower_

_Tall Boi: I coulda changed it to The Hottest but that wouldn't have been fair to you guys_

_Ned: HA no that title's been taken_

_Honeybunch: Woah Ned, coming through for your bf._

_Ned: How do you know I wasn't talking about myself?_

_Darcy set Conor's nickname to The Hot One_

_The Hot One: Hmmmm_

_Disaster Boy: He has spoken_

_Ned: Damn you got me_

 

_7:08 pm_

_Conor: You're the hot one to me_

_Me: Oh my goddddd_

 

_7:11 pm_

_Darcy: So._

_Darcy: Spill._

_Me: Okay, but you're under oath_

_Darcy: You have my word._

 

* * *

 

_Christ, who'd have thought my phone would be blowing up all the time like this? I've never felt so popular, and it really is very time consuming. Not that I have a whole lot to do around here besides read, catch up on Netflix, and wonder what the gay agenda would be if we really had one._

_It's been a couple nights now, and yeah, I'm definitely starting to miss Conor in my bed. It's so big and luxurious that I just want to share it with someone. I'd be saving on the electric bill if I had him to cuddle with. I keep saying this, but he's SUCH a softie; he told me that he hasn't been sleeping as well without hearing me next to him, and it's almost embarrassing. No, it's definitely embarrassing, I just don't care all that much._

_He's flying out to San Francisco tomorrow, and I hope he has the time of his life._

 

* * *

 

_8:16 pm_

_Me: So you all set for the flight?_

_Conor: Yeah pretty much_

_Conor: Had some drama with my parents about it though_

_Me: What happened?_

_Conor: My dad’s still trying to change my mind about spending the rest of the holiday with Janey. I swear, it’s like he doesn’t even consider her part of the family anymore. Once he started talking about how she “betrayed” them and everything_

_Conor: Ah nevermind_

_Conor: It’s not that important_

_Me: It’s important to me, Conor. You can tell me whatever you need to, you know that right?_

_Conor: Yeah, I know_

_Conor: It just pisses me off and I hate feeling this way_

_Me: Wanna call me? We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to_

_Conor: Yeah, I wanna hear your voice_

 

They spent the rest of the night talking about nothing in particular, and Ned counted the minutes until he heard Conor relax through the phone. It felt like they’d already been near to the end of the world and back, and he wondered what it was that made Conor so hesitant to talk about the things that upset him so much. They spent almost an unreasonable amount of time together that it wasn’t like he hadn’t noticed that Conor usually avoided the subject of his dad like the plague. But they would have many more months holed up in their room together, and lately Ned had been feeling like they had all the time in the world.

 

* * *

 

_Puppy Parade_

_11:17am_

_Victor set Ned's nickname to Twink Town_

_Twink Town: Didn’t think I’d be called out like this, but I'm not arguing_

_Disaster Boy: wth is a twink_

_Honeybunch: So uncultured._

_The Hot One: Hmm yeah idk either_

_Twink Town: Wow fake gay smh_

_Tall Boi: Look it up on safe search_

_Disaster Boy: im a safe mode turned off kinda guy_

_Honeybunch: Ahaha good luck with that._

_Honeybunch: And Victor, how do YOU know?_

_Tall Boi: What /don’t/ I know_

_The Hot One: Ohhhhh_

_The Hot One: I got it_

_Disaster Boy: WOW OKAY_

_Disaster Boy: ned i cant believe_

_Twink Town: Disclaimer: Whatever you may find on the internet is in no way shape or form a direct representation of this specific twink and/or all affiliates._

_Twink Town: Don’t get any ideas_

_Disaster Boy: i cant...look away_

_Honeybunch: I mean…?_

_Honeybunch: Wally if you found a new hobby, we won’t tell anyone._

_Disaster Boy: i cant believe you guys roped me into watching gay porn_

_Tall Boi: Dude urban dictionary is FREE and READILY AVAILABLE_

_Honeybunch: Oof same, honestly._

_Twink Town: This groupchat was a mistake_

 

* * *

 

In the past years during holidays, Ned always felt like he was stuck. Sometimes it would feel as though the walls were closing in on him, and he spent more days and nights than he’d like to admit curled up in some corner of the house, unable to pull air into his lungs, clutching his head like that alone would make the room stop spinning. The first winter holiday that he spent by himself, he hardly got a minute of restful sleep. He’d wake up sick and crying, clutching at the sheets and searching for any semblance of comfort; and he learned to sleep with the light on. He now hates hard liquor because it used to be the only thing that would allow him to stay asleep, all through the afternoons and evenings until he took the train to return to school.

It was during those times that he would find himself running from the house at any given hour just for a chance to breathe, even though it never did anything to ease his mind. During the day, he’d see what the rest of the world looked like. Mothers and fathers and grandparents entertaining tiny children, toddlers running up to their mums and being swept up in their arms. Fathers lifting their crying kids high into the air to make them forget their worries, and it would make him feel like he was being sucked into the ocean, drowning in other people’s happiness. He was eleven, twelve, thirteen, and he knew that he would never feel more lost. Everywhere he went, he felt alone, and would walk for miles just to have something to do.

The years move on, however, and Ned learned that the only way to freely walk about in the world was to dare himself to keep pushing ever forward. Now, at sixteen, some days felt a little more…stagnant than others, and during these moments his kept himself busy by challenging himself to look at anything other than the ground when he left the boundaries of the porch. He was getting better every year, and felt stronger with each Christmas that passed him by. He only decided to make a true effort when he remembered that his mother wouldn’t want him to hide himself away from life.

So today he wandered around his hometown, bristling in the cold wind as he made a plan for what he would do in his own company. Christmas was nearly upon him, and the streets were positively bustling around him. Back in the day this would have bothered him to the point of a breakdown, but now he found comfort in the festive excitement rolling through the streets and shops. His dad had transferred his usual gift of a sizeable deposit into his bank account that morning, and he intended to take full advantage of it.

He didn’t think his friends would have guessed it, what with being cooped up in academic prison for most of the year and all, but Ned _loved_ to shop. He didn’t know where this passion came from, but the satisfaction he felt on the other side of a register, arms full of a hard day’s work of thrifting, (and yes, he prided himself on shopping exclusively in thrift stores when he could,) was undeniable. As was the bubbling in his chest at the knowledge that he now had four friends to dote on when he got back. For once, he didn’t mind the crowd, all of them frantic to finish their Christmas shopping, for it was a welcome change from a silent, empty house. He did however, leave his headphones on for the duration of his trip; he truly despised any and all Christmas music.

He toured almost each and every business, eager to see what was in store to waste his father’s money on.

He purchased some lovely dress shirts for each of the puppies, wondering what they’d look like if they properly cleaned up for once, (the thought of the annual spring dance drifted hazily through his mind,) and a new sweatshirt for Conor. He really didn’t intend on returning the one he snatched, anyway. He bought some choice pins and patches for his favorite jacket, and settled on a pair of boots that he was convinced were simply _made for him._ What was it about impulse purchases that made him feel that all was right in the world?

He walked by a bright red rug that persuaded him that his and Conor’s dorm room floor was far too hard and uninviting, and he hoped that no one would give him too much shit about it as he handed the cashier his debit card. He’d have to tell Conor that his side of the room really was just too dreary to ignore, and got a few vague posters that would bring some personality into the space. They’d have to live there for six more months, after all, and that’s exactly what he thought as he decided to replace their curtains as soon as he returned.  

At last, his body weighed down by his purchases, Ned waited for his Uber home, feeling absolutely no regret whatsoever. Sure, he may have gone just a _touch_ overboard, but he’d never felt so comfortable being out in public, wading through families and rampant consumerism, feeling more at peace than he thought was possible. He even made friendly conversation with his driver on the way back to his neighborhood.

When he stepped out of the car, doing his best not to drop the onslaught of bags into the snow, he noticed that someone had beaten him to the door.

At the sound of the car door slamming shut, a woman that he recognized to be his neighbor turned around and smiled in surprise.

“Oh, hello, Edwin! Perfect timing, I was just about to knock.” In her hands was a glass container with aluminium foil wrapped around the top, no doubt another of her bi-annual casseroles.

“Hi, Mrs. Kelly. How are you?” Ned approached the steps as she looked on, her usual maternal smile plastered to her face.

“Oh, I’m just fine, dear. Thought I’d bring you something to eat, and possibly some Christmas cheer this year?” Mrs. Kelly was an older woman who had a habit of trying to convince Ned to let her tend to him whenever he returned home. He appreciated the sentiment, he really did, but sometimes he found her pity resentful. She always looked at him like he was some sort of lost child who needed to be saved, (and honestly, rightly so, considering his previous holidays and tragic past,) but he had developed his own habit of refusing any of her sentiment. He hadn’t wanted anyone to know how self destructive he had become after his mother’s death and his father’s absence.

On this particular day however, Ned suddenly had a change of heart. He still had plenty of energy after his trip, and what damage could it do to ease her mind? He placed a bag on the porch and unlocked the door.

“Sure, would you like to come in for some tea? I’m sure this casserole is even better than last year’s.”

She gave him a light laugh at this and another look of surprise. He’d never invited her in before. “I would love to!” She eyed his shopping haul as he led the way in. “A bit of Christmas shopping before the big day?”

“Something like that.” He set the bags down by the door and removed his coat before taking the dish from her and moving towards the kitchen to put the kettle on. Soon enough, they were sitting across from each other at the small dining room table, mugs of peppermint tea in their hands, and her eyes moving along the various string lights littered around the house.

“I see you’ve done some decorating; it looks lovely.” Why did she look so proud?

“Thanks. So, how’s the neighborhood?” During the summer, Mrs. Kelly was notorious for tending to her garden and stopping to talk to just about every passerby on the sidewalk. She knew every name and backstory of the residents on their street, and Ned was reminded of Victor’s nosiness.

She shrugged. “Oh you know, same old, same old. Harold Smith just bought a new car, and I’m sure it was only to make the Murray’s jealous. Or possibly just another step into his mid-life crisis, who knows for certain.” Ned resisted the urge to roll his eyes, but he was amused all the same. “But Edwin, dear, _how are you?_ ”

He knew this was coming, but retained his politeness nonetheless. Somehow, he was feeling uncharacteristically light today. “Actually, Mrs. Kelly, I’m really good. Better than ever, as a matter of fact.”

She looked elated. “That’s wonderful! I’m so happy to hear it.” She leaned in slowly and lowered her voice as though sharing a secret. “What is it, new girlfriend?”

Ned snorted into his tea, spilling hot water down his chin and wanting to laugh through the pain. He avoided her gaze across the table. “Not exactly. You remember that I go to an all boys school, right?”

She quickly nodded, having evidently forgotten. “Oh yes, that’s right! Which one is it again?”

“Woodhill College, a few hours east.”

“I see, they’re very popular in rugby, aren’t they?”

“That’s right; won the Senior Cup a little while ago.” Ned reeled in the circumstances in which he was so knowledgeable about it.

Mrs. Kelly sipped her tea. “That’s nice, do you play?”

It took all the willpower he could muster to stop himself from saying, _no, but my boyfriend does._ “No, rugby isn’t exactly my area of interest. I still haven’t figured out why my dad sent me there in the first place.”

Her signature sympathy filled her eyes again. “Have you seen him lately, your father?”

He didn’t feel like going into detail about the events that surrounded the last time his parents were summoned back from their full-time paradise, electing instead to raise a shoulder and say, “Not really. He and Natalie only come back to give me a ride to school at the start of term.”

Mrs. Kelly pursed her lips. Ned had a suspicion that she was holding back her thoughts on his father’s younger, distant wife. He doubted Natalie had spent more than a couple hours at best in the neighborhood, and guessed that she wasn’t living up to his neighbor’s friendly standards. “I see. So what is it that you’re interested in?”

“Well, I discovered that I really like to write when I entered this year’s essay writing competition. I won, actually, and earned some prize money that only ended up going to the school anyway. But I haven’t been able to stop writing ever since; I’m even thinking that it’s something I might like to go to University for. I tried to teach myself to play the guitar, but I suppose I sort of phased out of it.” He made a mental note to encourage Conor to pick it up again.

She gave him another motherly smile, but this one lacked any sliver of pity. “That’s…marvelous, Edwin.” She took another look around the house, clearly impressed. It looked as though it had never been empty in the first place, and Ned wished that was so. Spotless, save for a couple dishes in the sink and books on the coffee table, the bubbling sound of stew in the slow cooker that he’d prepared that morning simmering in the background. The home look lived in, and Ned felt alive.

“Are you going to put up a tree?”

“Yeah, as soon as I lug the rest of the decorations down from the attic. I bought a plastic tree last year, since I don’t have the means to get a real one on my own.”

Her eyes softened as she took a long sip from her mug. “Would you like some help? I have an excellent eye and Anthony would be more than happy to set up some lights outside.” The Kelly’s were legendary for their yearly Christmas decorations.

Ned looked down at his own cooling tea. “Thanks, Mrs. Kelly, but decorating is something I’d like to do on my own. Christmas as a whole a bit of a tradition I have with the house.” He thought to himself how strange that must sound, but Mrs. Kelly appeared to be unbothered. On the contrary, she reached out and placed a hand on his, her green eyes looking directly into his.

“I understand. And please, call me Jeanette.”

He held her gaze. “Only if you start calling me Ned.”

She laughed the first genuine laugh he’d ever heard from her. “It’s a deal.” She leaned back, and Ned thought that this must be what it feels like to have a family member in the area. “You’re growing into a fine young man, Ned. And I hope we can do this again sometime.”

He smiled back at her, feeling completely at ease. “I’d like that.”

 

* * *

 

_It’s absolutely outstanding to me how rude people can be to those who work in customer service. I can’t even begin to try to understand what it is about these people that makes them think that it’s completely fine to harass a teenager that works seasonal retail for minimum wage. God forbid you wait more than a whopping ten seconds in line, or can’t make returns until the new year. I won’t pretend I know what it’s like to lift more than a couple fingers in the short span of my lifetime, but I do know the world will continue to spin ever onward if my online coupon expires._

_I wish for a lot of things, but if there’s anything I dare hope to pray for in my future, it’s that I can spend the rest of my days without forcing a smile while crying behind a cash register._

 

* * *

 

_7:47 pm_

_Me: So how’s Berlin? I can’t believe you actually live there_

_Darcy: Well, we haven’t lived here for a super long time, but it’s awesome! My mum hates cooking, so we’ve been going out to dinner somewhere new every night. She’s honestly kind of like a tourist, and we’ve been going all out since I got back._

_Me: Like how?_

_Darcy: So last night we went to this big dance performance, and it was AMAZING. I think it might be something I’m interested in pursuing._

_Me: That’s cool! What kinda dancing?_

_Darcy: All kinds; ballet, interpretive, hip-hop, and other shit I don’t even have words for. The way they got lost in the movements was mesmerizing, and their synchronicity was astonishing._

_Me: Too bad our school doesn’t do anything creative like that, huh?_

_Darcy: UGH YES. So don’t tell the others, but I’m thinking about transferring out of Woodhill at the end of this term. I’m gonna go to more performances like that and see if I can talk to some of the dancers. If it’s something I’m REALLY interested in, maybe I can go to an artsy school somewhere._

_Darcy: But don’t get me wrong, I love you guys so much. You’re all like, the best friends I’ve ever had._

_Me: Aww Darcy you know we love you too_

_Me: And I wouldn’t worry too much about it, those boys aren’t letting you go that easy. Maybe next year they’ll finally let us have our phones, it’s almost 2017 for God’s sake_

_Darcy: Oof, I don’t know if I could handle a whole year of that godforsaken groupchat._

_Me: I know, doesn’t Victor use way too many question marks??????_

_Darcy: HA yeah, it gives me a fucking headache._

_Me: So after I told you all the dirt with me and Conor I have to know_

_Darcy: I have a feeling I know where this is going._

_Me: So, are you gay?_

_Darcy: Mate, I really don’t know. It’s not like I have a chance to figure it out at that school. Can I ask you a question, though?_

_Me: Of course._

_Darcy: How did you know?_

_Me: Hmm, I’m not sure exactly. Kinda like you, I never got the chance to figure it out with someone else, but girls never really caught my eye in the first place. Boys around me would talk about girls like they knew shit, and when I didn’t chime in, I guess they decided for me. I never had a real crush until I met Conor, but at some point I figured out that I wanted to be with guys they way they wanted to be with girls._

_Me: But the whole sexuality spectrum is fabricated anyway, and though I might be 100% or whatever, there’s no pressure for you to be completely one way or the other, you know?_

_Darcy: That makes sense. I feel like I’ve seen both women and men in the same way, but I’ve never given much thought to being in a relationship in the first place. I was raised to /work/ and be successful, so I feel like I’ve never had time for it. Then when I came to Woodhill last year, all of that just totally left my mind until you and Conor became a thing._

_Me: Yeah, I’d never considered being in any kind of relationship until all that went down_

_Darcy: You’re happy you found him, yeah?_

_Me: You could say that. I thought I’d fallen into an alternate dimension or something when I found out that he was gay_

_Darcy: Man, I can’t believe you outed him in front of everyone. No shade though; I mean, look what happened._

_Me: Ughhhhhh don’t remind me, I’m still embarrassed about it_

_Me: I wish we could talk like this at school. I always feel like there’s someone listening around the corner and something terrible is gonna happen if anyone finds out that two guys are having a real conversation_

_Darcy: Tell me about it. Well, when I figure out my sexuality, you’ll be the first to know._

_Me: Yesss I look forward to it_

 

* * *

 

 

_10:50 pm_

_Conor: I’m so  t i r e d_

_Me: Don’t sleep, you’ll get jet lag_

_Conor: But I want to_

_Conor: It was a 10hr flight I can’t even see straight_

_Conor: And it’s early afternoon here??_

_Me: What’s it like?_

_Me: California, I mean. Not the sleeps_

_Conor: Ummmm bright_

_Conor: And so warm, you’d love it. Lots of hills. I’m fucked up but it doesn’t even feel real_

_Me: Send LOTS of pictures_

_Conor: Only if you send me some_

_Me: Of what? I’m not really doing anything_

_Conor: …of you!_

_Conor: I wanna see your face when I’m a million miles away_

_Conor: And all the time, but whatever_

_Me: Fiiiine just so you remember what I look like when you get back_

_Conor: Like I could forget_

_Conor: Janey’s taking me out for “lunch” I’m gonna go drink a gallon of coffee_

_Me: Okay good luck <3_

 

* * *

 

_It’s Christmas Eve, and I think I’m ready._

 

* * *

 

Throughout Ned’s many recent revelations about life, love, and the way things change, he thought the time had finally come to continue one of his mother’s most important traditions. His heart had been hammering in his chest at the thought of this whenever it crossed his mind, and didn’t stop when the time actually came around. He wasn’t scared per say, he was just…apprehensive to take another physical step into his past. He couldn’t think of anything else to blame for his abundant good fortune since he met Conor, and he wanted to tell this undeniable entity that he really did appreciate it. Sure, everything wasn’t perfect, and he didn’t think it ever would be, but this decision felt solid. It felt like the right way to say hello, goodbye, and thank you.

Tonight was Christmas Eve, and Ned was going to church.

When he was a child, sitting next to his mother in a pew with a tie too tightly wrapped around his neck, he really didn’t think much of God or Jesus. All of that seemed too easy; too plainly a way to excuse oneself from their own misgivings and problematic ways. When he tried to think of what the priest would say every Sunday, all he remembered was a ringing in his ears as he dozed against his mother’s shoulder. He would wonder what was so great about sitting on a hard bench in one’s Sunday best for hours on end, listening to an unknown authority drone on about another unknown authority, and their list of rules. He never liked the idea of Sin and the Devil, because how could humans simultaneously be shamed for their natural needs and desires whilst blaming it on a vague entity of utmost evil? Their regulations just never made any sense to him, and neither did their obligation to _worship._

What a strange word that is, worship. When he thought about it, the only thing Ned could ever recall worshipping was his mother, but even that seemed too intense a way to describe the unconditional love they had for each other. He understood being grateful for the powers that be and her womb for giving him the air that he breathes, but would he follow it without question? Would he persecute others for it? Would he kill for it? The whole experience was just too much, and after she died, he thought he had stopped believing for good.

If he had continued his life as lonely and exiled as he thought he would, he would have thought that God stopped looking his way once and for all. But as his mind opened and his heart grew, he knew that heaven wasn’t done with him just yet. An ounce of him that still believed in fairytales thought that he might burn up upon his re-entry into the cathedral, or that the priest would take one look at him and would somehow know that he didn’t agree with all of it. His newly reformed relationship with God didn’t come with a price tag on his soul, and he knew that he wouldn’t be able to explain his sin away. The concept of Sin and Hell seemed too malicious, like he needed the fear of an eternity in purgatory to have faith.

The love that he had for his mother and his friends was holy, and that’s all he needed to know. His mum died when he was still too young to know that he couldn’t fall in love with a woman, and maybe this was just wishful thinking, but he felt in his heart that she would have loved him all the same. Why shouldn’t he assume the same love from God?

He continued to tell himself these things as he dressed for the service, putting on his best button up, shoes, and tie, looking in the mirror and trying not to think about how everyone would see him. The church that he grew up going to was a healthy walk away, and usually he’d get an Uber or something, but his nerves weren’t going anywhere. It really didn’t matter which blazer he wore, or which shampoo he used in his hair, but he did everything he could to distract himself from the way his heart was fluttering. It would be his first time walking into a chapel since the last Sunday morning his mum woke him up, in a light blue dress to match her eyes.

It didn’t matter if his anxiety blocked out the cold on his walk, or if he thought about Conor’s hands to ease his mind; he was going for her.

And at last, it couldn’t be avoided any longer. He stepped over the threshold into the house of God, defying years of his own expectations.

Predictably, he was the only one who had gone on his own, and he hoped no-one would take pity on him if they noticed. He thought about asking Jeanette to come with him, unsure of whether or not she was actually Catholic, but like many things in his life, this was something he’d have to face alone. The service was fine, and it honestly felt kind of like a school assembly, minus the restless classmates nudging and whispering to each other in the crowd. As he thought, the priest (whom he’d vaguely recognized from his youth,) preached some beliefs or guidelines that didn’t entirely line up with his own, but luckily Christmas tended to be about love. The love the world shares for those closest to them, and even the ones we consider our enemies. This made Ned think of Weasel, and all the pain he’d inflicted. What was he doing tonight, and what would he be doing tomorrow? What traditions would be forever changed in his life, and what did he consider important? Ned’s own parental figure had passed years ago, but Wesley hadn’t been so lucky.

So when they all bowed their heads to pray for everyone they’d ever liked, loved, or otherwise, Ned kept the boy in his thoughts. He prayed for his pain and for how his life had changed in a way so similar to his own, and did his best to wish him a silent Merry Christmas. He prayed for everyone he could think of, pressed between this sea of worshippers. Wesley, Dan Sherry, his headmaster, his father and Natalie, and even Pascal. And of course, he prayed for Conor, and how lucky he was to be able to call him his boyfriend in this day and age. He sent his heart out to each of his friends, and thanked God for their roles in his life, because they fucking deserved it.

The service was about as long as he remembered, which he thought was funny considering most of the regulars would be returning the next day for the very same reason. What he really imagined himself doing tonight, though, would come after.

He didn’t want to talk to anyone, and he definitely had no intention of joining the line for confession, so as the rest of them gathered together to formally repent, he quietly stayed back. He moved to the front row, to needlessly feel like his voice would be more clearly heard, and looked up at the stained glass and cross above him. He hadn’t planned ahead on what he’d like to say to the lord above, leaning over with his elbows on his knees, but hoped anyone listening would get the message. Throughout the service, he imagined his mother next to him, and did his best to remember that if she really was there, he would’ve been taller than her.

 

_I’m trying to not think of you as imaginary, because I’m mostly here for you. I’m sorry it’s been so long since I’ve come back, but I know that you understand why. When you died, all I did was try to run away from the fact that I’d never be seeing you again. I had to come home, but we both know that I wasn’t actually there, not really. I didn’t put up the tree, I didn’t talk to God, and I slept all through Christmas day, wishing I could forget that you’d been there at all._

_I know better now. I believe that you never stopped watching over me, because I wish I could spend the rest of my life being close to you. I’m sure it must be difficult, watching me get beaten and bruised by people who don’t see me the way you did. What was it about me that made you so sure that I’d become something special?_

_There have been so many moments in these five years that I just wanted to give up. Become like my dad and pretend you never loved me, or find a gateway to oblivion and run all the way down it. Maybe it was God that stopped me, or made me realize at just the right time that all you ever wanted was for me to be happy. Mum, I’ve been living for you. I’ve been waking up every day knowing that it’s what you would have wanted me to do. So I think you can rest a little easier, because I’m starting to find other things to get out of bed for._

 

_And God, thank you for not giving up on me. There are times that I wonder why my life turned out this way. Especially when I was younger, I’d wonder why you created me if I was going to end up gay and utterly alone. But if there’s anything I’ve learned since September, it’s that I’m anything but on my own._

_I hope you understand how much of a big deal this is for me, sitting here by myself in a room full of people who would hate me if they knew who I was. I hope you understand that I’m here to say thank you. I know you’re not a vengeful god if you had the compassion to give me the wonderful people in my life. I’m sorry to say this, but I really did hate you for a while. I’ll never understand why you took my mom back to heaven so early, but I suppose I was never going to be ready for it._

_I hope you look after my dad. He isn’t as lucky as I am, and I’ve long since stopped trying to understand why he disappeared. But maybe one day you’ll give us both the strength to find each other._

_Everyone in the world sees you differently, giving you hundreds of names and rules for themselves to follow. But I don’t know, my connection to you feels beyond that. I’m living my life the best I can, and I think you can get down with that. The more I fall in love with my life, the closer to you I feel, and I hope that doesn’t sound conditional or anything._

_So whatever happens in the next day, six months, or fifty years, I hope we can stay together._

_Amen._

 

* * *

 

_8:02 am_

_Me: If you don’t have jet lag, you’re probably still asleep. But Merry Christmas Conor. I miss you._

 

_Puppy Parade_

_9:25 am_

_Tall Boi: MERRY CHRISTMAS BOYS_

_Victor sent a photo_

_Tall Boi: Holiday cheer from me and the lesbians!!!_

_Twink Town: Awwe you guys are really cute_

_Disaster Boy: HAPPY CHRISTMAS_

_Disaster Boy: my parents are making us all go to mass like three times today fml ive been up since 5  :’(_

_Honeybunch: Are you and your mums wearing matching jumpers? I’m in tears._

_Disaster Boy: heres a pic from me n the Carr clan_

_Wally sent a photo_

_Tall Boi: WOW that’s a lot of ya_

_Disaster Boy: yeah we gotta take like 3 cars when we’re all together_

_Disaster Boy: and my little sisters and brother get real grumpy wearing formal wear all day_

_Honeybunch: My mum wants to take one too?_

_Darcy sent a photo_

_Twink Town: Darcy_

_Twink Town: Are you and your mum drinking champagne at nine in the morning?_

_Honeybunch: I mean, it’s 11 am here._

_Tall Boi: It’s called /class/ Ned_

_Honeybunch: Shut up, Victor. We like to celebrate._

_Twink Town: She’s wearing business casual! I can’t not say anything, what a power move_

_Tall Boi: Ned send a pic!!_

_Twink Town: Ugh okay_

_Ned sent a photo_

_Disaster Boy: woah look at that tree!! its huge_

_Honeybunch: Yeah, did you put that up by yourself?_

_Twink Town: Yeah but it’s artificial_

_Twink Town: You won’t catch me luggin a real tree all the way home_

_Tall Boi: It looks really nice Ned_

_Twink Town: Thanks, I went a little crazy and put string lights all over the house_

_Disaster Boy: wheres conor??? he needs to get in on the selfie game_

_Twink Town: Nine hours behind us, genius_

_Tall Boi: You two been talking?_

_Twink Town: Duh_

_Honeybunch: Duh._

_Twink Town: Darcyyy_

_Twink Town: He’s been sending me SO MANY PICS of San Francisco_

_Tall Boi: Ooh send em to us_

_Disaster Boy: only the g rated ones plz_

_Twink Town: Oh my god have some chill_

_Ned sent 6 photos_

_Disaster Boy: wow im so jealous  ;_;_

_Twink Town: Me tooooo! I’d be so happy to never see snow again_

_Tall Boi: But then we’d never have another snowball fight! When we get back to school I demand a rematch_

_Disaster Boy: YEAH YOURE GOING DOWN ASSHOLE_

_Tall Boi: FUCKIN FIGHT ME_

_Disaster Boi: I FUCKIN WILL BRING IT_

_The Hot One: Can you guys shut the hell up for a second_

_Tall Boi: CONOR! Merry Christmas_

_The Hot One: Merry Christmas I’m trying to sleep_

_Twink Town: Sorry Conor_

_Disaster Boi: who cares send a xmas pic_

_The Hot One: I can’t it’s pitch black in here_

_The Hot One: I’ll send a pic of me and my sister from her instagram_

_Conor sent a photo_

_Tall Boi: AWWWW I wish I had a sister <3_

_Disaster Boy: no you dont my sisters been pissing me off all week_

_Honeybunch: What’s Janey’s Instagram handle? I wanna follow her._

_Disaster Boy: yeah shes like a hot girl version of you_

_The Hot One: Eww no Wally_

_Disaster Boy: what? am i wrong_

_Honeybunch: No, but you make me glad I don’t have a sister._

_Disaster Boy: whatever i gotta go, my mums pissed that im taking pictures of everyone at church_

_Disaster Boy: l8r losers pray for me_

_Honeybunch: I already pray for your soul every waking moment._

_Disaster Boy: aww im touched bye_

_The Hot One: Okay I’m going back to bed ttyl_

_Tall Boi: Goodnight!_

 

_9:57 am_

_Conor: Merry Christmas Ned <3_

 

* * *

 

_10:13 am_

_Victor: I really don’t like that Ned spends his Christmas alone_

_Victor: He doesn’t have any family at all???_

_Darcy: I’m not sure. If he does, he doesn’t talk about them._

_Victor: He put up Christmas decorations all by himself tho_

_Darcy: I know, but maybe Christmas isn’t as big of a deal for him as it is for you or everyone else. But yeah, I couldn’t imagine living in a house on my own._

_Victor: I feel like besides Conor you know him better than any of us, where’s his dad??_

_Darcy: From what he’s told me, he’s pretty distant. He just sends him money every once in a while, and they haven’t lived together since his mum died._

_Victor: Dude_

_Victor: That sucks so much._

_Victor: But I guess I can understand why he wouldn’t want to live in India with him_

_Darcy: Yeah, his step mum seems…not that great._

_Victor: Details?_

_Darcy: Why don’t you ask him for yourself?_

_Victor: Idk, you’re just closer with him_

_Darcy: I don’t pry all that much (unlike you,) but I know that she’s a raging alcoholic and they got married really fast._

_Victor: He deserves a family, especially for Christmas. I feel terrible that he’s alone_

_Darcy: He’s not alone; he has us, Victor. We’re the only friends he’s ever had._

_Victor: Why did it take me so long to befriend him?_

_Darcy: Probably because of that piece of shit you were hanging out with before. And I don’t know if he ever really wanted friends to begin with, you know? We just kind of showed up, but I know that he appreciates us._

_Victor: Yeah, I guess. I hope he knows that we’re there for him_

_Darcy: He knows, man. You’re just high on festive energy._

_Darcy: But I like how much you care about other people._

_Victor: It’s Christmas and I love my friends!!!!_

_Victor: You should probably tell Wally that you don’t actually hate him_

_Darcy: Eh I don’t think I need to, he knows he’s my boy._

_Victor: Still, he’s a sensitive soul he’d really love you for it_

_Darcy: We’ll see._

_Victor: And why do you put periods on the end of /every/ sentence? You sound so serious all the time_

_Darcy: Whatever, I value proper grammar._

_Victor: P.s. I’m glad you’re my friend too, Merry Christmas :)_

_Darcy: Merry Christmas Victor_

 

* * *

 

As Ned was just beginning to get used to the possibilities of a luxurious life away from school- sleeping in, minimal anxieties, and hours spent in the shower, he was becoming increasingly aware of how soon the days in his home would be coming to an end. It was tricky at first; acclimating to a silent space, free of the daily stresses and noisy livelihood of boarding school (he surely didn’t miss it, but it was always something to get used to.) But after a few days of nothing to do but relax and reflect, he tried his hardest to resist the thought of how many days were left until this peace came to an untimely demise.

Okay, demise is a strong word. Yet suddenly it was New Year’s Eve, and he had no idea how that happened.

He’d just gotten lost in his books, his couch, volumes worth of group chats and even more hours of talking to Conor over the phone. They called, texted, and video chatted so frequently that he was amazed that they even had anything new to talk about, but he supposed that was due to Conor’s unending excitement about spending his holiday in liberal California. When they first met, he didn’t consider Conor to be a very excitable person, but now it sounded like he hadn’t stopped smiling since he got there. Ned thought this might’ve made him a bit jealous under normal circumstances (whatever those were,) but when he thought about it, there really wasn’t too much to get excited about in their daily lives in the first place. That, and Conor always made a point to remind him of how much he wished they were together after every single one of their calls. Through all of this, Ned could hardly say he felt out of the loop. Even though he’d spent every day alone since the start of the holiday, he felt about as lonely as he did at school since his group of friends had expanded from zero to four.

He’d even started video chatting with Darcy over the course of their break, and he couldn’t have been more relieved to finally talk to someone else about all the intricacies of the world. Whereas he and Conor talked about the highs and lows of daily life and how their lives were shaping around them (conversations that were unmistakably valuable,) Darcy provided him an educated outlet with which to vent. He never would have guessed that he’d find someone who was just as different from the status quo of Woodhill College as he was, and he only regretted not finding his dear friend sooner.

So yes, Ned was disappointed about once again having to wake up at seven in the morning to sub-par school provided meals and days spent listening to only vaguely higher authorities, but as the winter holiday drew to a close, he wasn’t nearly as heartbroken about it as he used to be.

He wished he could spent almost every Saturday evening as he did on the last one before his return to school, planning his dinner and eager to continue one of his newest books with the fireplace patiently waiting for him. He was just adding salt to a pot of water on the stove when a knock at the door jolted him out of his routine.

He knew that if he had been just about anyone else, a determined rapping against the wood of his front door likely wouldn’t have made him jump out of his skin. He hesitated in front of the sink, wondering if it was all in his head. It wasn’t impossible that Jeanette would come around, maybe hoping that he would want some company on the night before New Year’s, but a surprise visit was the absolute last thing he expected. Another knock sounded throughout the house, and it certainly wasn’t a figment of his imagination this time. There was a suspicion in his footsteps as he approached the front end of the house, and he chastised himself for acting like this was something to be wary of.

So he shook himself free of the impending doom running through his mind and opened the door, and it wasn’t Jeanette.

It was Victor, grinning from ear to ear.

Ned was positively stunned, eyes so firmly in place on Victor’s in shock that he didn’t even register the two women that were stood behind him, looking equally as excited. Victor’s face was plastered with shameless glee, which only slightly faltered at the look of astonishment that was definitely on Ned’s own.

Victor had probably planned some exuberant exclamation beforehand, but his eyes softened, sensing that he should take a gentler approach. “Er…surprise!”

Ned let out a small laugh that he didn’t expect from himself. “What are you doing here?” He hoped he didn’t sound rude, especially now that he finally noticed the two accompanying him that could only be his parents.

“Well, I figured that I’d let you do Christmas on your own, doing whatever you need to do, but I also didn’t see why New Year’s had to be the same! I’d like to grace you with the presence of the Hines family this evening, if you’re interested.”

The brown haired woman to the right of him gave him a shove with her elbow. “Victor, please.” She looked into Ned’s eyes. “You really don’t have to if you don’t want to, love. We just thought that we might give you the option, and he was _insistent_ on surprising you.”

Ned gaped on before suddenly remembering how to be a polite human being, open door still in hand. “...Yeah. Yes! Oh my God, yes, please come in. It’s freezing out here.” He stepped out of the doorway, holding it open for them, still wondering if this was somehow a fever dream.

“Great! Because we brought champagne and I’d hate to have to get home to drink it.” Victor said, kicking off his shoes in the foyer.

The woman with curly, sand-colored hair rolled her eyes before reaching out to shake Ned’s hand. “I’m Emily, Victor’s mum. A pleasure to meet you, Ned.”

“Pleasure’s all mine. Sorry for acting so…shook…I’m just really not used to having company around here.”

The other woman smiled at him before handing him the bottle of champagne and shrugging off her coat. “It’s no problem; I practically begged Victor to at least text you beforehand, but he’s _so_ damn hard-headed! I’m Veronica, by the way, his _other_ mum.”

“That doesn’t exactly surprise me. If there’s anything I’ve learned about him lately, it’s that he’s dead set on a group gathering.”

The teenager in question had already taken to looking around the house, walking around and inspecting the place in a way that made Ned wonder if he was looking for something.

“You’ve got a nice spot, Edwin. Exactly what I expected; cozy and perfect for you.” He looked him up and down for a second before adding with a smirk, “I see you’ve moved into the sweater Conor got you.”

“I’m honored. I was just about to make dinner; I’d have prepared something if I knew you were coming.” He didn’t even want to ask how Victor knew about the sweater.

Veronica made her way into the kitchen, wearing a deep purple sweater that made him envious. “Oh, what were you gonna make?”

He shrugged, placing the bottle on the dining room table. “Just some pasta. I like to make my own with the pasta maker when I’m home.”

Emily’s head whipped around towards him, and Ned was half concerned she’d get whiplash. Her eyes widened in excitement. “You have a pasta maker?”

“Yeah, way better than anything you’d get in a box at the shop.”

She nearly vibrated on the spot. “I completely agree! I spent a couple years in Italy when I was younger and I’ve been trying to teach this woman about proper food since 2005.” She darted into the kitchen before giving him a mischievous look. “May I?”

She needn’t have asked however, as the rest of her family had already begun opening the fridge and cabinet doors. Making oneself at home anywhere on the face of the earth must be genetic, because Ned could only look on as Veronica was already inspecting his mother’s kitchen appliances, and Victor had procured four wine glasses from the cupboard. He rolled his eyes, heart lifting in his chest, and resigned himself for the upcoming night with the Hines’.

“Victor, don’t even think about it; it’s way too early to open the champagne right now. We’ll drink regular rose` before you get too carried away.”

And just like that, he was preparing dinner with people he’d hardly had any previous knowledge of. Victor didn’t talk about his parents too terribly often, but it was now obvious that it wasn’t because he was ashamed of them in any way; they were laughing and poking fun at each other as if this were any other night. It wasn’t immediately plain which of the women was Victor’s biological mother, but Ned spotted it as soon as he heard Victor’s iconic rhythm of laughter spill out of Veronica’s mouth, melodic, rapid, and airy.

She pulled out a few chicken breasts from the freezer to thaw, and Ned thought it was hilarious how he felt he should ask how he could help in the kitchen he’d grown up cooking in. She must’ve sensed his hesitancy. “I hope we’re not being too intrusive Ned, but once she gets started on a meal, there’s no stopping her.” She nodded towards her wife, who was reading the labels on ingredients he didn’t ever remember having.

“Oh, whatever, he loves it.” Victor interjected, scoping out the wine cabinet. “What would you have done come midnight, anyway?”

Ned thought for a split second as he pulled silverware to set on the table. “I dunno, probably just text Conor, even though it’ll be three in the afternoon for him.”

Emily gave him a knowing look over her shoulder. “And tell us about Conor! Victor’s given us what he knows, which isn’t as much as he’d like to think.”

Ned almost dropped the stack of plates he was holding, and hated the way the heat crept into his face. “Ah…he’s just… _Conor,_ I suppose.” Victor hadn’t been lying when he said there were no secrets in his family.

Veronica ran the chicken under hot water to thaw. “I’m just impressed you two can find a way to make it work in such a school. I definitely couldn’t have done it.”

“Well, it’s not easy, that’s for sure. We’re both out, I guess, but I’m not sure if everyone really _knows_ that we’re together. I wish that we could be like a normal couple without people making such a fuss about it.” Not only was it completely out of the ordinary for him to talk about his relationship with near strangers, but he’d also never talked about any of this to Victor. He wondered if Conor did, or if Victor had even asked him. Are straight people at all interested in knowing that kind of stuff?

Victor didn’t respond to this, and Ned made a mental note to worry if anything between him and Conor had become common knowledge at a later time.

“Well dear, I wouldn’t worry a whole lot about it right now. You two just keep doing your thing and hope for the best. Besides, with this kid on your team, I’m sure that no one’s give you any shit for a while.” She looked towards her son, who had taken to pestering Emily about letting him help her with the noodles.

He looked up and grinned. “Damn straight!”

Emily moved on before Ned could get too emotional about it. “It is so refreshing to see so many spices in your kitchen! If it weren’t for me, these two would be living in a salt and pepper exclusive household, and that would be tragic.”

 

Within the hour, more or less, the four of them had prepared a truly professional level meal, fit for a world-renowned chef, in Ned’s opinion, and his mouth was watering as they all sat down around the dining room table. He poured them each a modest amount of wine and they tucked in.

“So what would you be doing for New Year’s if you weren’t here?”

“We usually throw a party at our house, but Mum Y’s work friend decided to host at his place this year.” Victor said, swallowing a mouthful.

“Mum Y?”

“Mum X and Mum Y.” He replied, pointing at Veronica and Emily respectively. “I’d say A and B, but I don’t pick favorites.”

Emily rolled her eyes at him before saying, “Don’t listen to him, he still calls me Muma at home.”

Ned did his best to take a drink of water without giving more than a chuckle. “Aw, Victor, that’s adorable.”

Victor narrowed his eyes at them both when Veronica gave a sly grin, the one Ned saw on Victor’s face on a regular basis. “Don’t even start.”

Veronica feigned a look of innocence. “Start what, dearest?”

“I see you, and I will not have you two ruining my reputation.”

“Oh, you have a reputation, sweet boy? Tell us all about it.”

Ned felt like he was watching a tennis match with the way his head was turning side to side to see them banter with each other. “Oh, Victor thinks he’s got this bad boy thing that will outlive us all. But he’s got nothing against Wallace.”

Emily nearly cackled. “Aha! I could tell you stories about this boy that would make him weep.”

Victor glared on, but Ned was intrigued beyond compare. With nothing but dire seriousness in his voice, he said, “I would give my right leg to hear embarrassing stories about Victor Hines.”

The wives shared a look, and Ned could smell trouble. “Well, to start,” Veronica began with her son’s trademark smirk, “When he was little, he just absolutely _had_ to be naked. He refused to wear a stitch of clothing even in the middle of winter and would pitch a fit whenever I’d try to dress him.”

“Mother, for the love of God, please don’t do this to me.”

“I’m serious! We were so worried that he’d get hypothermia one day, being such a nudist.”

Ned almost didn’t want to look at Victor through this, but knew that he needed to commit this moment to memory.

Emily spoke up, glass in hand, “And then one day, we look away for like, three minutes, and suddenly he’s streaking down the street, five years old, and he somehow thought that he should’ve _at least_ put on his shoes, because that’s all he had on.”

Victor took a hearty swig of wine, looking like that could never be enough to forget this.

“And on top of this child being naked all the time, he must’ve had like, twenty imaginary friends. We had to assume that they were naked too, because I got so many calls from his teachers saying that he’d keep trying to strip, and couldn’t figure out why his classmates had any clothes on when they asked him why.” Veronica looked at Victor with an affection that only a mother could have. He must have surrendered to his fate because the guy was silent, one hand over his face and the other firmly wrapped around his glass. Ned refilled it with the utmost sympathy.

“Please keep going, because I’m having the time of my life right now.”

Emily sighed, looking up in dear remembrance and thought for a moment. “Well, when he was about eight or so, this poor boy thought every little girl was his girlfriend. We’d be walking around the park, going to the shop, or what have you, and he’d go up to girls his age and hold their hand and kiss them on the cheek. It was so cute, but their parents weren’t too happy about it.”

“He even started proposing to his classmates, the little heartbreaker.”

Ned couldn’t take it anymore; he was cracking up so much that his ribs began to ache, and Victor could only groan, his face visibly tomato red between his fingers. Ned thought that this made up for every single time he’d ever blushed in his life, but he was having too much fun to feel guilty about it.

“Please, _please,_ if you really love me, you’ll stop there.”

Veronica looked vaguely disappointed. “Oh, really? I haven’t even talked about how you wouldn’t take a bath alone until you were-”

“NOPE. Nope, you’re done! We are done with that, thank you!”

 

The rest of their meal passed by relatively smoothly, with only minimal mortification on Victor’s part until he regained a semblance of his usual charm. Ned was utterly floored by how he felt like this was something they did all the time, and it was amazing how other people could make him feel welcome in his own home. They were talking like they’d known Ned for years, even as he was learning about them.

It was revealed that Veronica and Victor’s father had separated when she was still pregnant, and she’d met Emily when Victor was four. They had lived in a trailer park in the west until they all moved in with Emily’s mother, before they bought a home of their own when he was about seven. It was more valuable than Ned had ever thought to imagine to learn about their lives together, in a world where their family was far from the norm. Sure, he knew that people like him were out there somewhere, but it felt like no one considered that they could have families as much as anyone else.

Later into the evening after washing up, they moved into the living room. Emily and Veronica were comfortably sharing the couch, and Victor and Ned were on opposite armchairs, feeling delightfully warm.

“So Ned, how do you like Woodhill? You don’t strike me as particularly athletic.” Emily asked.

Ned groaned in response. “It’s a fucking nightmare, if I’m being honest with you. It’s only thanks to these guys that it’s even bearable at all; they’ve basically adopted me.”  

Victor was nursing his third glass of wine, his legs thrown over the arm of his chair, and Ned didn’t feel like being shocked at his lack of restraint, even in front of his parents. “I would guess having a secret boyfriend makes it better, my friend.”

Ned shrugged, gazing into the fireplace. “Well yeah, it helps. I’m glad that for the most part, other people have been minding their own business, but I think it stems from not knowing what they’d do if the staff found out two students were openly dating. It’d be much worse if Conor wasn’t such a star athlete, but I feel like we have to stay on the down-low to keep the peace, ya know?”

It was astounding how comfortable Ned felt in their company. He’d only ever consulted Conor, Darcy, or his journal about the strain of having a secret relationship in an institution where toxic masculinity was doctrine. He’d never had the opportunity to consult people who understood what he was going through and actually lived to tell the tale.

“Can I ask you two something?”

“Of course, dear.”

“How did you know when you were in love?”

Veronica gave him a motherly smile that sparked something deep in his own memory. “So, not to embarrass Victor any further, but he was the one that really made it solid for me. Emily’s a physical therapist, and she was about to fly to London for a conference when he was about to turn six. We took her to the airport, and she was just about to board when he got the idea in his head that he’d never see her again. When we were saying goodbye, oh he started _wailing_ , ran up to her and jumped into her arms, throwing an absolute fit and begging her not to go. She picked him up and swung him around, and I just knew that I couldn’t let her get away.” She looked at her wife then in a way that made Ned know that true love was real.

Victor didn’t seem embarrassed; he just looked at his parents like he was proud to be their son.

Emily took Veronica’s hand in hers and said with equal affection, “Well for me, it was when I’d finally convinced her to dance for the first time, and she looked so stupid doing it that I _knew_ she had to be the one if I still loved her after that.”

 

As the evening stretched on and 11:55 rolled around faster that Ned had even realized, Victor, Veronica, and Emily Hines had not only made a home in his house, but also deep within his heart. He really had to stop being so shocked when good things happened to him, because if he got struck like this any more, he’d likely suffer from some kind of heart attack one day. As sleepy as he was, he felt lighter than air, and he now understood what it meant to have his heart grow five times its size.

The clock struck midnight and it was 2017, and Ned was over the moon.

The only thing that could’ve made it better was if Conor had been there, but he had a hard time feeling too remorseful about it when he witnessed Veronica and Emily share a New Year’s kiss in his living room. If they taught him anything this evening, it was that he had time, and plenty of it. There was no doubt that God was watching over him, and he silently prayed to kiss his boyfriend like that next year.

They all got wrapped into conversation again, with the aid of Victor and Emily’s undying energy, they lounged around in front of the fire for about an hour more before Veronica pretty much had to raise their spirits off the couch and announce their departure.

She was just picking up her wife’s purse when Ned was hit over the head with a desire for further hospitality.

“Er, actually, the roads can be pretty monstrous on New Year’s, and it’s probably frozen out there. I have two extra rooms, would you like to spend the night? I don’t think I’d be able to sleep, knowing you were driving in all that.”

Victor was hanging upside down, legs swung over the back of the couch, and his cheeks were appropriately rosy. “Ooh, fun! Sleepover at Edwin’s.”

Veronica stopped and looked over at him. “Oh, love, that’s sweet, but I’m sure you’ve had enough of us for one evening. You didn’t even know we’d be coming.”

“No, I’m serious! It’s really no trouble at all, and it would put my mind at rest.” Something deep down was telling him to ride out this willingness to let people into his life and home, and there was no hesitancy in his offer besides habitual embarrassment.

Veronica turned towards her wife and Emily shrugged. “That’s fine with me; we already asked Amelia if she’d walk the dog, and I could send her another text. You sure, Ned?”

He nodded. “Definitely.”

Veronica sighed, and there was only fondness in her eyes. “Well, how could we say no?”

Victor cheered, lifting his legs and flipping ungraciously off of the couch.

 

* * *

 

_I’m tired of talking about change. Yeah, I’m more grateful with almost every day that passes, but I guess I can’t be surprised about how my life has turned around so suddenly anymore. I suppose that’s just how life is, isn’t it? We can go years thinking that the universe works in only one way, but no matter how comfortable you’ve become with the state of things, your expectations can be shattered in a matter of days, hours, moments._

  _I just don’t have the energy to be surprised any more! All I can do is go along for the ride. I think I was too scared to entertain the possibility of positive change unless it happened on my terms, but that probably defeats the purpose. I never really subscribed to the whole, ‘new year, new me’ thing, but I might get left behind if I don’t open up already._

_Good things happen, Ned. It’s only a shame that it took me so long to realize that. I have to stop being shocked and just start being happy with the way things change. So I guess this is my goodbye to the old way of thinking._

_I think I cut myself off from other people and new possibilities because I thought I would be distancing myself from my past. Like it was somehow an insult to my mum’s memory and the life we had if I chose to move on and be happy. I’ll always love her and feel thankful for the time we had together, but I know that if she wanted anything from me, it’s to move through life with an open heart._

_Never in my life would I have guessed that I’d be inviting anyone to sleep in a bed that’s been untouched in six years, but I’m tired of talking about that. Shit like that happens and it’s those little things that make my life better, piece by piece._

_So yeah, things change. All I have to do is change with them._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, leave a comment on what you think! Getting notifications from you all fills me with so much joy, you don't even know.
> 
> And the next chapter will be in Conor's POV! What did Ned's note say? I already wrote it, so you'll find out soon! Love ya'll <3


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Conor goes through some shit at home in the first part of his winter holiday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So! I let myself get so carried away with this whole Christmas break portion of the story, that I had to break up Conor's chapter in two; because it's SO LONG. If I waited to post his whole experience as one chapter, it easily would've been another week until I updated again. 
> 
> One day we'll get back to our regularly scheduled programming at school, but today is not that day.

 

 

Janey always told Conor that he looked so serious all the time. Not quite a resting bitch face, but something close enough that always made it a little difficult to easily attract friends growing up. She told him that he didn’t look ready to throw a punch, but he usually looked like someone had walked in on him doing something _extremely_ important.

He didn’t think too often about how he looked to others; it just didn’t cross his mind until someone asked him if he was alright. He usually got lost in his own head so frequently that it wasn’t even a second thought to him if any of that showed on his face.

 

So in this case, he didn’t have a clue if his anxiety at the prospect of seeing his father again was visible to the naked eye. Honestly, it was all a little subdued in his stupor, and he just hated himself for letting Wally challenge him to drink so much when it was revealed to be one of his biggest mistakes the next morning. He definitely owed Ned a lifetime of servitude for doing all of the work it took to get him safely out of school, and _wow_ he felt so guilty about leaving him as a drunken (and then atrociously hungover) disaster. When he woke up in the middle of the night nearly dying of dehydration, he vowed to never get that wasted again.

 

After waking up at a somewhat reasonable hour on Monday morning, however, his nerves had settled in once again. He didn’t know what it was exactly that made him so anxious to see Harris, but the hesitancy he felt hearing his parents talking downstairs was overwhelming. His father wasn’t necessarily a mean man when he was in a ‘good’ mood, and Conor wasn’t worried about getting into a fight, but after their last encounter, he could’ve gone another fifty years avoiding his company. He knew it wasn’t healthy to try to forget it, and it only served to further worsen his distress, but when his recent happiness took ahold of him, he just wanted to push any and all negativity to the side to quietly fade away.

 

In the past month or two, he remembered that he wasn’t an angry person by nature. Distance and quiet hostility was just his way of coping with stress, he knew that. He hated the way he used to feel all the time, like the world was out to get him and he was on the brink of exposure. It would take up so much space in his mind, and he hated the fear of dire possibilities that could only be just around the corner. It was paranoia, to put it simply. He wished he could run away from everything that had ever made him upset, and without completely realizing it, school had become that safety (however volatile it could be) for him. Somewhere that he could forget about the stress of his family and focus on his schoolwork, rugby, his friends, and Ned. He wondered if Ned even knew how safe he felt around him since day one.

 

He could hear his father’s voice on the first floor of their house, and Conor was suddenly out of bed and pacing around his room without even noticing.

 

Maybe he should have called his dad on his bullshit when it happened instead of letting it grow inside of him like this. How could Harris not realize that he’d broken his heart when he told him that the love for his son was conditional? His father’s pride came with a price tag, and it hurt like hell. How was he supposed to interact with him after that? Sit down and eat breakfast with a man who was only his father under specific circumstances? Conor was tired of pretending, he knew that much. There were people in the world who appreciated him for exactly what he was, and that gave him the courage to be honest with himself. But still, could he find it in himself to love someone that didn’t truly love him like family should?

 

He spent so much time walking around in circles and sweating out his anxiety, that he almost didn’t register the sound of the front door opening and closing until he realized that it meant his dad must’ve left for work. This didn’t make him feel too much better, since now the inevitable had simply been pushed back by a few hours.

 

Still, it enabled him to take a breath, put on a shirt, and walk down the stairs.

 

2:38 pm

Wally: dude ive been home for less than 24 hours and my sisters already pissing me off

 

Wally: she threw all my clothes into the garage and moved hers into my room

 

Wally: like margaret youre 13 how many clothes do you even need???

 

Me: Bruh at least your bed’s still there, my parents got rid of all my sister’s shit as soon as she went to university

 

Wally: barely! lily hates having to share a room so she just sleeps in my bed now and she WONT LEAVE

 

Wally: i had share my bed with her and her 500 stuffed animals cause she threw a tantrum and i just cant do that again

 

Me: How old is she?

 

Wally: 6 and thats just the WORST age you cant tell them what to do for shit

 

Me: I’m pretty sure I made my sister crazy when I was little too

 

Wally: tell me your sibling drama so i can feel better about mine

 

Me: Hmm let me think

 

Me: Once I was snooping around her room when she was like 16 and hid under her bed when she came home, but little did I know that she brought a boy with her

 

Wally: OOOH

 

Me: And then they got on her bed and I was /horrified/ but I knew I couldn’t stick around

 

Me: And when things got heavy I crawled out like a fuckin spider and scared the SHIT out of them

 

Wally: AHAHAH

 

Me: Yeah she was BIG MAD.

 

Wally: how old were u???

 

Me: 12

 

Wally: id say thats too old, but everyone in my house is up in each others business anyway so

 

Wally: did you find anything when you were snooping

 

Me: Cigarettes and like, a pinch of weed

 

Me: We agreed that I wouldn’t tell our parents if she didn’t

 

Wally: wow dude your sister is so cool

 

Me: Yeah she’s the most fun out of the two of us. Do you have any /cool/ siblings?

 

Wally: uhh yeah ME obviously

 

Wally: my parents think that henry’s the best cause hes been saving money since he was like 10 and has his own house and lots of money

 

Wally: but honestly joey is the coolest cause he got into all kinds of shit when he was in school, hes the second oldest. he supposedly had three girlfriends at once or smth

 

Me: Hmm I call bullshit

 

Wally: i mean maybe but i still wanted to be just like him, and my mum would make herself hoarse yellin at him

 

Me: What’s the worst thing you’ve ever gotten in trouble for

 

Wally: damn idk there’s been a lot

 

Wally: when I was 10 and maggie was 6 i put her hamster in its little ball and rolled it down the stairs

 

Wally: we live in a three story house

 

Me: WALLYYYY

 

Me: Whyyyyy

 

Wally: idk man! weve been out for each other since the day she was born

 

Wally: i held her in my arms for the first time and i just knew she was gonna fuck with me

 

Me: Wow it sounds like you were meant to be

 

Wally: we are!

 

     ____________________________________________________________________________________________________   

 

 

Dinner on his first conscious night back at home was admittedly a little…tense. Conor’s resting not-quite-bitch face must have been dialed up to eleven throughout the evening, (in all fairness though, his mother dragged him into no less than three different department stores before finally giving in,) because she hadn’t tried too hard to engage him in any conversation. Conor just wanted to return to the quietness of his room, but neither of them wanted to cook dinner, so they settled on bringing take-out back to the house.

 

She didn’t ask him if he was feeling better after the previous day, since he was only a little worried when he walked into the kitchen that morning, and she’d already gone through her list of routine questions about school and rugby. He told her about each of his friends, and though she didn’t seem specifically disinterested, his mum always had this way about her that gave off the impression that she was thinking about something else.

 

So they sat down to eat together at the dining table out of courtesy alone, both long having given up on the possibility of his dad coming home at any predictable hour. Conor was perfectly content to text Ned throughout the meal with his mind on everything other than his food, and he hoped she wasn’t paying too much attention to him.

 

As she was beginning to load the dishwasher and Conor was ready to finally ascend up the stairs, his father walked through the door and spotted his son immediately.

 

They made very sudden eye contact, and though he desperately wanted to move as quickly as humanly possible, he very well knew that there was no chance of escape. Harris had this cheeky grin on his face like he’d just won a medal and raised his arms slightly, dropping his keys in the process.

 

“Conor, my boy!” He moved forward and looked at him like they hadn’t seen each other just two months ago. Before Conor could do anything about it, Harris put his hands on his shoulders and gave him a hearty shake. “Look at ya’, you’re strappin’!”

 

He wasn’t slurring, and his steps looked certain, but there had come a time when Conor realized that there was hardly ever a moment throughout the day in which this man hadn’t had a drink. He received a light, yet daunting, slap on the cheek and Conor could smell whiskey on his breath.

 

“Thanks.” He responded.

 

Harris’ smile didn’t waver. “Well, come on, sit down and have a drink with your old man! We got a lot to catch up on, sorry for missin’ your Final Cup.”

 

He moved towards the kitchen, and Conor looked on after him and noticed his mother’s eyes on his own. “Senior Cup, actually. And I think I’m good, thanks.” He spun in the direction of the staircase, praying to avoid any and all confrontation, but his father’s continuously loud voice caused him to stop in his tracks.

 

“What, you got somethin’ better to do?”

 

_Yeah, jumping out the window._

 

Instead of acting on his immediate instincts (something he was proud of himself for getting better at,) he simply moved further along and held his tongue. As he was trekking up the stairs, he heard his mother’s voice, faintly saying something like, “He’s just being a teenager; let’s give him some space.”

 

    __________________________________________________________________________________________________

 

He knew that he shouldn’t make a habit of escapism; there was really no point in trying to run away from negative emotions like this, but fuck, sometimes there was nothing else to do about it. Conor layed down on his bed, face first, and tried to come up with a way to avoid his father’s presence as much as possible through the duration of his stay at home. If he only had to endure two and a half more days holed up in his room, he could persevere. Honestly, he wished he could talk to Harris about all of the things he did, now and throughout the years, but that man was impossible to talk to when he’d been drinking. It would prove to be a challenge to find a moment of time that he was completely sober, so Conor considered it a lost cause for now.

 

In the meantime, there was something he had been too caught up in his own inner nonsense since he left school to discover: Ned’s Christmas Present. He hadn’t yet found the right moment to be genuinely excited about it, but now that he was alone, with all traces of illness (physical or emotional) having seeped out of his body like sweat, his heart leapt at the promise of something positive.

 

The problem was that he had no idea where it was.

 

God, why did he have to be such a tragedy yesterday morning? He didn’t even get the chance to properly say goodbye to his boyfriend. His first boyfriend, and he hardly remembered saying farewell to him at all. He’d have to make that up to him in some way when they got back. He had later pieced it together that Ned packed up all of his things for him, and Conor deserved to have his favorite hoodie stolen from him as some kind of clothing tax. Besides, he would give anything he owned for a picture of that adorable boy in his clothes.

 

_Anyway,_ on his bed, struggling for air, Conor racked his brain for any memory that would serve as a clue to where the note was. Did Ned say anything about where he put it that morning? He very well couldn’t text him and ask; there was some kind of instinct that prevented him from letting Ned know that he was about to read it. So he peeled himself from his mattress, surely still suffering from his annihilated sleep schedule, and began the search. He checked the jeans and coat he wore out yesterday, left in a crumpled heap on the floor, but no dice. He checked his rugby bag and the depths of his duffle, but was only left with his possessions scattered across the floor. He knew for a fact that Ned wouldn’t have forgotten about it, but he also knew that he likely would have put it somewhere where it wouldn’t get lost.

 

After realizing that the angel would have guessed that Conor was too simple-minded to look in the most obvious spot (and enjoying making him look for it,) he finally retrieved the folded note, hidden in a little inside pocket that he wasn’t entirely aware of in the first place. Not giving a single fuck about the mess in his room, he jumped back on his bed, totally unprepared for what would be written within.

 

He leaned on his back against his pillows and just stared at the way his name was written on the front. It was so sappy to even think about, but he’d never really seen Ned’s handwriting before, and even that was endearing. What a stupid thing to admire; one’s pattern of writing. But his affection for his partner made every little thing he did special in some way, and seeing his own name written by Ned’s hand felt like he was talking to him. He could hear his name on the other boy’s lips, and he already missed him.

 

_This is taking too long; just fuckin’ read it, man._

 

Ned’s writing was just so mysterious! Not the handwriting, but his love for the art form in general. His roommate spent _hours_ in his journal on a daily basis, and Conor had become increasingly curious about what he was writing so much about. It was thanks to this mystery that Conor didn’t have a clue what the letter would be about. It was just two pages and folded in two, and he felt like he was about to read someone’s diary. He might as well have been, since it looked like the pages had been torn out of Ned’s very own notebook. There had been just one, guilt ridden moment, in which Conor was tempted for just a second to pick it up. Very rarely he would leave it on his bed, and it felt like he was looking at a compressed version of his boyfriend’s soul. All of his secrets were between those pages, but Conor felt terrible even half-considering reading what was within.

 

He was losing patience with himself at this point. So, like he was preparing a dive into the unknown, he took a breath and unfolded the pages.

 

_Hi, Conor. I know it’s probably lame to write you a letter for Christmas, but I couldn’t think of anything better to give you than a piece of what has easily become my passion. You don’t strike me as a particularly materialistic person, so I hope you don’t mind._

_It’s funny, I write to you in my journal all the time, but now that you’re actually going to read this, I’m almost at a loss for what to say. Where do I even begin with how happy you’ve made me?_

 

_Honestly, I didn’t think I would like someone the way I like you for a long time. Since our worlds collided, I’ve learned so much about things I thought I was certain of, as well as things that I didn’t know would be possible. For example, it was absolutely naïve of me to think that it was impossible for a group of rugby players to make me laugh until my sides split, and I learned that the lock to the pool locker room door gets stuck if you turn the key too far to the left._

_Since I met you, I learned that life isn’t so terrible._

 

_Can you believe I used to dread every waking moment within this school? It felt like the whole world was against me, and it was something predestined by some force of nature that I was so miserable. I didn’t know I was lonely until I found a friend; as pathetic as that may sound. I was so certain that happiness could only be found after stepping away from the school for good, that I hadn’t entertained the possibility that I could find it within these very walls._

 

_I’m talking about me too much, aren’t I? Well, long story short, you make me feel so welcome. Not just in our friend group, but somehow, I feel like I’ve been invited to walk the earth for the first time. I feel more at home in a place where I’d only ever been told that I didn’t belong. The way you looked at me over the wall when you said you liked the song I’d plagiarized was a look that I hadn’t gotten in years, if ever. It was as though you saw me as more than the kid that everybody hated, and I don’t know how to thank you for that. I can only hope that you know how wonderful you are to me._

 

_Conor, you’re just so amazing that I don’t know how else to say it! The most genuine, honest, and down to earth human being I’ve ever had the pleasure to meet out of the blue. I have an inkling that your life wasn’t exactly peachy before I outed you (sorry again about that,) but you deserve every good thing that happens to you. Not to mention you’re so attractive that I could cry about it, and you should know by now that I really only go to rugby practice to watch you sweat._

 

_If you promise not to show this to anyone on the face of the earth, I could tell you about some of the things I find myself daydreaming about when I’m in the middle of class._

 

_When I first laid eyes on you, I thought all semblance of sanity in this lifetime had flown out the door, never to be seen again. To be completely honest with you, I tried to get Walter to let me switch rooms because I didn’t know how I could cope living with someone so physically tempting (even though I sure didn’t have the wherewithal to do anything about it.) Whether you’re on the field, doing press ups on the floor or just changing your shirt in our room, it has been my pleasure to see your muscles move. Honestly, the rugby team doesn’t know how good they have it, getting to share a shower with you. Or maybe they do, and I wouldn’t blame them._

 

_And Conor, believe me when I tell you that I could write a novel solely about your ass and all of the physical and emotional turmoil it puts me through._

 

_I’ve been kept awake at night reliving almost every time we’ve kissed since the first, and I don’t know if it’ll ever be enough. I could spend a hundred years with your lips against mine (and everywhere else too, but I’ll try not to get too carried away with that.) The point is, you’re unbearably gorgeous, and I deserve a medal for keeping my hands off of you in the coming months._

 

_So yeah, regardless of if we ended up together or not, meeting you was easily one of the best things to ever happen to me. I hope that I can spend one Christmas after the next getting to know you, and inevitably falling even harder for you._

 

_Merry Christmas, Conor. I’ll be right here when you return from California._

 

Conor read this letter. Then read it again. And again.

 

Ned really needed to give him some of his talent with words, because he was at a complete loss for them. He didn’t know what to think, or what he’d say if there was anyone there to say it to; he could only _feel._ It felt like his spirit had been lifted ten meters into the air, carried away only by his heart, and he was worried that he’d start astral projecting with how close he yearned to be with him.

 

He felt frustrated that he was there, alone on his bed, when someone so important to him was also on his own and what felt like a thousand miles away. If they were together in that moment, he wouldn’t have been able to speak a word. All he wanted to do was take Ned in his arms and show him how much he meant to him, how happy he’d made him since the moment he let himself be carried away into that space underneath the stage.

 

When the gift of coherent thought found its way back to the forefront of his mind, he wished that he could tear away any feeling of loneliness Ned had ever felt. He deserved friends as much as anyone else, if not more. Damn, how Conor cursed the world for turning its back on someone so special, so unique, so _important._ With all that he’d gone through in his short life, he was the one that deserved every drop of goodness life had to offer.

 

Ned thought that Conor had made _his_ life better? That was mind-blowing, considering Conor had just about become a different person since they were brought together. He finally felt hopeful of the days to come, his father be damned. He didn’t care that Ned outed him in the most public way possible, it just proved that crazy shit needs to happen in order for things to change. It doesn’t matter what happened in the months or years to come, Conor would never regret meeting him.

 

He wondered if he should tell him that he tried to switch rooms for the very same reason.

 

Well, maybe that hadn’t been the only reason, but it was definitely one of them.

 

And God bless Ned for being the only other person besides his own sister (and Victor, but whatever,) that saw right through him. He’d never known someone to describe him as honest and genuine, because he’d lived his whole life trying to be the exact opposite. He’d spent so many of his days running away from anyone who might have possibly seen who he really was, and Ned not only saw him for the emotional wreck that he was, but he appreciated it.

 

He’d also take the contents of this letter to the grave if that meant he could remember those words for the rest of his life. It felt like electricity running through his veins, knowing that Ned thought that he was as attractive as he did. He wouldn’t tell him this, even though Ned probably already knew, that he exercised on the floor of their room in part to get a rise out of him. Sure, Conor had insecurities as much as anyone else, but he wasn’t blind to the way he’d catch Ned looking at him from his bed or his desk. It was so endearing how he’d look away and pretend he hadn’t been caught staring. Conor couldn’t keep his eyes off of him on the best of days; it was only fair that he try to get back at him in some way.

 

Before he got too caught up in all the things he planned on doing the moment they were face to face again, he texted Ned, wishing to get a glimpse of his face to satisfy even a fraction of the fire that started in his chest.

 

When the screen expanded to reveal an adorable (albeit a little fuzzy,) live image of Ned, swaddled like a cherub up to his neck in blankets, Conor regretted not having the foresight to immediately take a screenshot. Ned would probably be affronted if he did, but having that moment saved would’ve been worth it.

 

“Hi, Ned.”

 

“Hey, Conor.”

 

Conor didn’t have the best way with words, and he would’ve been happy to just look at each other in silence. In their time spent with alone at school, there were many hours when they would just sit and enjoy each other’s company, but now with only a iphone to link them together, it felt like he had to make up for a lack of physical presence. They talked for a little about their day and the shows Ned was watching at home, but at some point, Conor just _had_ to make an attempt to tell Ned about the letter.

 

“I also read your letter today.”

 

The look on Ned’s face was priceless, and he wondered if the blond (now with some dark roots showing,) was even aware of how expressive he was. He supposed it was just another example of the many ways his boyfriend made up for what he lacked.

 

“And…?”

 

There his words went, once more, deleting themselves from Conor’s internal hard drive like they had never been there at all. How could he describe all the ways in which he felt so lucky?

 

“And I just wish I was there to show you how much that means to me. You make me _really_ happy, Ned.” Fuck, he wished he could say more.

 

This seemed to be enough for Ned, however, as Conor got to watch him do that the thing he always did when he got flustered.

 

“Least I could do.” He couldn’t imagine receiving anything more, though.

 

Well, he figured that if he couldn’t experience the joy that came along with seeing him blush in the flesh, the least _he_ could do was enjoy Ned’s embarrassment to the fullest.

 

“So you miss me now?”

 

Why would he ever need to drink again if he could hear Ned laugh like that? “Yeah, Conor. I miss ya.”

 

There had always been something about him that made Conor feel like he could be himself and say what was truly on his mind. He really wasn’t the kind of person to tell just anyone how he was feeling and how embarrassingly sentimental it all was, but there was this little voice in his head that constantly told him to wear his heart on his sleeve when it came to the other boy. There likely wasn’t another person alive who he would let himself be so vulnerable with, but there was a spark about Ned that made him feel exposed in the best way possible.

 

It was because of this that he had no trouble saying, “About time, cause you know I miss you. The only way I’ll get through talking to my dad is thinking about you.”

 

Ned was hilarious, looking away like Conor had just professed his undying love for him. He didn’t really expect a straightforward answer, as he rarely gave them when Conor chose to be so honest. So it didn’t come as a complete surprise when the response he got was, “So…what would you do if you _were_ here?”

 

Honestly, what _wouldn’t_ he do if they were in the same room? Conor probably would’ve found a way to walk across the Atlantic if that would allow him to keep feeling this way. He thought a few ways he could keep going back and forth without confessing anything truly embarrassing, but he supposed that if he was going to keep up his private reputation of complete honesty, he might as well go big or go home.

 

“I’d probably kiss you until you begged me to stop; they’d have to get a crane to pull me off of ya’” He prayed to whatever was listening that no one living or dead would hear him say that.

 

Perhaps this wasn’t the answer Ned was looking for, because he heaved a truly dramatic sigh and must’ve thrown his arm over the couch, as the next thing Conor saw was the bottom of a coffee table.

 

_“Unbelievable.”_

 

“What, that not enough? I’d do anything you asked. Just say the word.”

 

Ned raised his phone level with his face again, looking uncharacteristically suspicious. “Is that so? Then you can pack my things for me next school holiday.”

 

Conor laughed. “That sounds fair.”

 

    __________________________________________________________________________________________________

 

Puppy Parade

 

12:38 am

Disaster Boy: group question

 

Disaster Boy: do you guys believe in ghosts

 

Twink Town: Ehh maybe. I’ve never seen one

 

Honeybunch: It’s too late for this. Why?

 

Disaster Boy: cause its important!

 

The Hot One: Not at all

 

Honeybunch: What’s so important that you need to open up that door for me in the middle of the night?

 

Disaster Boy: so you do?

 

Twink Town: I’m sensing a story coming up

 

Tall Boi: Oh yeah dude!!! I once saw a dead woman in my bathtub

 

Disaster Boy: REALLY????

 

Tall Boi: No dumbass, ghosts aren’t real

 

The Hot One: HAHAHAA

 

Disaster Boy: :,((

 

Honeybunch: So what happened, Wally?

 

Disaster Boy: well

 

Disaster Boy: charlie and lily just had an encounter

 

Disaster Boy: and it was in tents

 

Twink Town: Consider me invested

 

Disaster Boy: and diehard catholics dont fuck with spirits and this house is old as fuck so its no doubt haunted

 

Tall Boi: Hmmm sounds fake

 

Disaster Boy: motherfucker ive been seein ghosts since i was born shut up

 

The Hot One: Give me some proof and I’ll believe you

 

Honeybunch: Shh let him talk.

 

Twink Town: Is Darcy Lynch a believer?

 

Disaster Boy: so the twins come screamin down the stairs and tell my mum about some old woman they saw on the top floor and she goes APESHIT with the holy water

 

Disaster Boy: so basically the house is soaked but hopefully the ghosts are gone

 

Honeybunch: Consider me Shooketh.

 

Tall Boi: And how old are they???

 

Disaster Boy: 6 but kids see spirits like nobodys business

 

The Hot One: Mhm…

 

Twink Town: The Hot One? More like The Skeptical One

 

Disaster Boy: ONE of you has to believe me

 

Twink Town: I’m open to it

 

Disaster Boy: darcy back me up here

 

Honeybunch: Can we get a role call of all your siblings?

 

Twink Town: He’s into it!

 

Disaster Boy: ugh fine

 

Disaster Boy: so charlie and lily are the youngest theyre fraternal twins, maggies 13, then theres me

 

Disaster Boy: jacobs 19, charlotte and joseph jr are identical twins and theyre 21, and then henrys the oldest hes 23

 

Tall Boi: Your mom had two sets of twins? That’s wild!!

 

Disaster Boy: thats gods will for ya

 

    __________________________________________________________________________________________________

 

9:45 pm    _Incoming Call From Victor_

 

“Hello?”

 

“Hey buddy, what’s up?”

 

Conor was again hiding out in what had once been his bedroom; it was now more like a bunker than anything else. He was still reeling from what just happened, why did Victor have to call him _now?_

 

“Sorry, mate, but it’s really not a good time.”

 

“My intuition precedes me. What’s going on?”

 

The last thing he wanted to do at this moment was talk to another human being. He was perfectly fine with hiding from the rest of his household underneath the covers, like it could drown out the words echoing around his mind. Except that he really wasn’t.

 

“Nothin’. I don’t wanna talk about it.”

 

“You know keeping that shit locked up is gonna kill you one day, right? You wouldn’t want your rugby career to end at forty, do you?”

 

“I dunno, I hate talking about the shit that sucks so much. All it does it make me angry and I hate feeling like that.”

 

“Yeah, but just because you don’t talk about it doesn’t mean it’s goin’ anywhere. Tell someone what’s what and I promise you’ll feel better about it.”

 

As if. Somehow along the span of his life, Conor had decided that talking about things only made them even more real, and all he wanted to do was forget about it.

 

“I just feel like I’ll let my anger get the best of me, and I finally feel like I stopped doing that, ya’ know?”

 

Victor took a moment before he responded. “I know what you mean. But bad shit only gets worse if you don’t…properly think about it. And dude, I’m really not just being nosy this time. You don’t have to talk to _me_ about it, but I can tell something’s up.”

 

Conor attempted to take a full breath into his lungs before he realized that he was running out of oxygen under his comforter.

 

_It’s fine. Ignoring it won’t make it go away._

 

Poking his head out just enough to breathe, he steadied himself. “I just heard my parents having a bad row. I didn’t catch the beginning of it, but my mum was crying and saying something about perfume. My dad hit the table and started yelling.”

 

_“I should be able to go out and get myself a fuckin’ drink without you reaming me and cryin’ about it every fuckin’ night.”_

 

_“If you weren’t out God knows where, doing God knows what every night, it wouldn’t be a problem, would it?”_

 

“And yeah, they’ve had arguments in the past couple years, but I’m just not used to it after bein’ away at school for a while. And I was sat listening in the hallway like a kid or something; I couldn’t do anything about it. I always tried to stay out of it cause I feel like I’d completely lose it on him if I intervened, and I don’t think it’s what my mum would want. But fuck,” He hated the way his voice cracked slightly as he said this. “If he did something to hurt her, I wouldn’t be able to stop shit from hitting the fan.”

 

It was another few seconds before Victor said, “I’m not saying you should ask him specifically about it, but have you talked to him at all?”

 

Conor didn’t really understand why Victor would ask this. What the hell was there to talk to him about? What would it prove?

 

“I can’t remember the last time I had a real conversation with him that didn’t end in me getting pissed off, or him pressuring me to get drunk with him. He started getting really heavy with it a couple years ago, and…and I don’t even know who he is anymore.” God, this sucked so much. He wished they’d never been close at all; maybe that way he wouldn’t be experiencing the loss of someone who was still in his home. What had changed? From his perspective, his father had just decided one day to throw everything away, and it was like he didn’t even realize it.

 

He felt a stinging behind his eyes, and he thought about the only thing that successfully calmed him down. He wasn’t lying when he told Ned that he kept him on his mind whenever things got rough. “I was gonna talk to Ned about it, but I don’t want him seeing me get angry about shit like that. He doesn’t have a family, not really, and I’d feel shitty telling him about my issues when I can’t imagine what life must be like for him, ya know?”

 

“You don’t sound too angry to me.”

 

That was a miracle. “Oh, but I am. I’m so pissed off about this whole thing. I hate feeling so useless like this, and I’m angry ‘cause I’m just _confused_.”

 

“I get that. And about Ned…he’s a real one. He knows about hardship as much as anyone, and he wouldn’t want you to hide the negative stuff from him for his sake. The only way you guys are gonna get any closer is if you talk about the real shit with him, and he cares about you.”

 

He knew this was true, but the last thing he wanted was for Ned to worry about him while he was alone. Conor felt like if they were to talk about any of this over the phone, it would only make him miss him more. But truly, Ned had been so honest with him about his past, and it wasn’t fair to hide everything from him. He’d likely never forget about the time he’d held his friend close and listened to his story about his mum.

 

“And when it comes your dad, I feel like there’s no advice I can give you other than to know your own strength. If your mum’s unhappy, you should talk to her about it. And if shit does hit the fan, let her know that you’re there for her.”

 

Conor would have laughed if the situation felt any less dire. “Who gave you permission to be so smart?”

 

Victor though, did laugh softly. “Let’s just say it’s genetic.”

 

A few words later, and Conor was left with his thoughts once more. It did help to talk about it a lot more than he thought it would, but he still felt trapped. How was he ever supposed to live in a house with someone so predictably unpredictable? And how did his mum handle it if they were fighting like that? He wanted to escape to school, to his friends, to Ned, hell, even his homework to get away from it all. But at the same time, he’d feel terrible leaving his mother to defend herself if things got worse, or even if they didn’t.

 

But what choice did he have? He hated everything about that; the lack of choice or power he had. He had no power over his father or his place in the family; especially since he could lose whatever place he held if Harris found out. It was plain that he had no trouble exiling one of his children from his life, and that thought terrified Conor. He’d spent an endless number of days and nights worrying about what might happen if Harris knew the truth about his son, and these fears only solidified after that night at the bar. There was nothing he could do to make things better; pretending to be something that he could never be would only make things worse in the long run, and he was tired of making those around him comfortable at the expense of his happiness.

 

The unfortunate truth was that he lost his dad, or perhaps his dad lost him.

 

He thought back to his childhood, to family dinners and outings, Christmases and birthdays, and he wondered when his mum had lost her husband. He knew that they’d been happy together at some point in time, but he couldn’t place an exact moment when that disappeared. He knew he could have it so much worse; he’d never seen his father lay a hand on her or do anything too drastic. But now he wondered how long that peace would last. What kind of man was Harris these days? The father Conor knew loved his family with everything he had, but in the past two years he felt like a stranger.

 

He didn’t blame Janey for leaving in the slightest, but she was so far away. Did she know about any of this, or had she chosen to forget? Because she was what felt like a million miles from home, Conor felt like he could never truly leave. There was that little voice that sounded so much like Harris’ telling him that he should be the man of the family, to take care of them and take action. But what action could he take against him? How do you protect people from someone who taught you everything you knew? Conor knew that he would have to unlearn a lot of the lessons that he was taught, and it was thanks to his sister that he knew that at all.

 

It was getting so late, but he couldn’t stop his thoughts from spinning in the dark. It was becoming such a habit to think about Ned, but how could he tell him all of this? He didn’t have that special way with words to articulate the way dealing with his father felt like walking through mud. He felt so guilty, as though anything he was going through could compare to someone he cared so deeply  for living the life he did.

 

Sure, a couple of Conor’s grandparents died when he was young, but that wasn’t even close to the same thing. How would he cope with the sudden death of someone so important like that? He knew that if the same thing happened to him, he’d hide away, too. As much as he loved his mum, the only person he felt a true connection to in the same way was Janey, and he didn’t even want to think about what he would do if she died. But really, what would it be like if one of his parents suddenly vanished?

 

Lynn did everything she could to keep her family together, but it was becoming more evident how unhappy she was in her marriage. She kept his sister around as much as she could get away with, but Harris made a real reunion impossible. He supposed she used to be more open with Conor, but the more her husband drank, the further she withdrew.

 

Honestly, growing up is the worst. He really didn’t want to, but he wished he could go back to a time of childlike ignorance, when parents were happy and all-knowing, and the word family was a simple term. He had his suspicions that his mum was prone to depression, though he knew very little about the subject. A part of him wished he had never noticed how rarely she spoke about anything other than trivial, day to day things; or how he wished he never had to come home.

 

He felt like the word family now meant secrets and hard truths.

 

Christ, Conor just wanted honesty! He was getting better at being plain about his feelings in so many other circumstances, but he understood why things were different in this case. How could he be honest to a man who expected him to be everything he wanted? Everything he’s not? There isn’t any amount of rugby in the world that could save their relationship; it had to be more.

 

Without remembering how it happened, Conor fell asleep that night, dreaming of rusting boats and his father’s eyes, once kind and clear.

 

    __________________________________________________________________________________________________

 

The only thing that put more pressure on Conor than school, loomed over him more ominously than rugby or his father, the one thing that caused time to go by slower than his anticipation to see his sister again, was restlessness. He wasn’t typically a fidgety person, to say the least, but it didn’t take long before the habitual need to _move_ would take over his mind.

 

He never had much of a problem with twice daily practice at school because at the end of the day, it gave him the energy output he needed to clear his mind. He didn’t need an overbearing middle-aged man blowing a whistle at him to motivate him to play rugby, or to even exercise. Pushing his body to the brink of exhaustion just came naturally to him, and as much as he loved the game he plays, he could play just about any sport and it would give him the space he needed to think.

 

Basically, the more time he spent pacing around his room and worrying about the things he can’t change, the more he felt like he was losing his mind.

 

He needed somewhere to put all of his anxieties, and he loved rugby because there wasn’t any time to think about other shit when he was on the field. Whether it was a big game, a casual match, or even just daily practice, Conor was in his _element_ when he played; like things would balance themselves out on their own, or at least become clearer. It wasn’t quite the same as mindlessly running (which was frustrating as he did exactly that very early the next morning,) because any sport he played gave him a sense of structure. It gave him something to work on, to run towards.

 

Maybe Ned couldn’t understand why it seemed like he needed to exercise all the time, and often his teammates told him how mad his undying energy was, but for Conor, there was nothing to figure out. Whatever it was that he was running for, rugby, in his case, was what he was born to do; because he’d probably go insane trying to do anything else.

 

That morning, he’d woken up long before dawn with a fire in his veins. It felt like he’d hardly slept, but without a second thought, he put on his running shoes and bolted out the door like the house was on fire. He didn’t attempt running through the icy streets for fear of cracking his head open on the sidewalk, but luckily there was a school with a fenced in track a few blocks away. It was tedious, running in what was essentially a big circle, but he challenged himself to beat his record speed to give his mind something to focus on. He didn’t want to think about his parents, his school, his coach, or anything else.

 

He just wanted to run.

 

And it helped almost as much as he’d hoped it would, the frigid air making his lungs ache, and his legs screaming in protest as the sun came up. He didn’t care how long he’d been out there, or how long he wanted to stay, but his heart beating rhythmically in his ears provided a welcome distraction.

 

As cars on the road drove by with increasing frequency, he finally noticed how exhausted he was. Running without a break and lack of sleep, sure, but in the past couple days alone he felt more tired than he had in a long time. As he leaned over with his hands on his knees, gasping for breath, his body remembered how tired he really was. So with nothing on his mind but getting into bed and hopefully sleeping forever, he walked back to his house in a comfortable daze.

 

He barely registered unlocking the front door, climbing up the stairs, and only vaguely thought to remove his clothes as he fell onto his bed like he was made of lead.

 

8:28 am

Ned: You know, sometimes I get irritated about how cute you are

 

10:17 am

Me: Ahaha is that so

 

Ned: Yeah, kinda how you wanna like…

 

Ned: Eat a cat’s head because they’re so adorable

 

Me: ???? Can’t say I relate

 

Me: I mean you’re so cute I could jump off a building about it

 

Ned: Haaaa

 

Me: But I can’t say that I’ve ever wanted to eat a cat

 

Ned: It’s not like that! I can’t explain it, but I know I’m not the only one who feels that way

 

Me: Ehh I’m more of a dog person

 

Ned: Figures, why do you think I call you guys puppies?

 

Me: Hey, I like to think I have more self control than the others

 

Ned: Hmm, but you’re still easily susceptible to peer pressure. I think Darcy’s more like a cat, though.

 

Me: Do you wanna eat him? ;)

 

Ned: Pshhhh shut up

 

Me: …

 

Me: Do you think Victor’s hot?

 

Ned: Hell yes! Do you?

 

Me: Haha yeah, I like tall guys

 

Ned: Wooooooow

 

Me: Aww you’re not short, Ned

 

Ned: I’d grow for you if I could :(

 

Ned: Not like that

 

Ned: But also yeah, like that?

 

Me: My goodness

 

Ned: Anyways, why do you ask? I think all you puppies are attractive  

 

Ned: If it’s out of jealousy, I’ll kick you

 

Me: No it’s not that

 

Me: Curiosity? Sometimes I think I catch guys on the team lookin at him in some kinda way

 

Ned: Ooooh! Can’t say I’m entirely surprised though; he’s a handsome boy

 

Me: I feel like Pascal would have a stroke if he knew about anything though

 

Me: Not like anything’s anything in the first place, but still. I kinda wonder if he’s forgotten about THE THING since it happened

 

Ned: That sounds about right. I doubt there’s space for anything but rugby in that head of his

 

Me: It’s so annoying! What do you think he’s doing over holiday?

 

Ned: Probably weeping into an empty field or something

 

Me: HAAA you crack me up <3

 

    __________________________________________________________________________________________________

 

As delightful as it was to distract himself with the virtual antics of his friends, Conor was quickly realizing that not all things can be ignored. As a matter of fact, he couldn’t think of any problem he’d faced lately that could be pushed away. He could spend hours, days, weeks, _months,_ wishing that he could turn the other cheek to the things that upset him, but Victor was right; trying not to get angry about some things wouldn’t make them any better.

 

This harsh realization stared him in the face when he was at the top of the stairs that evening, when he stopped short at the sound of his mother crying softly in the kitchen.

 

_Something_ had to be done. Something had to be _said._ He wasn’t really one to plan out a speech or any kind of confrontation, but suddenly this felt like the right time to take some kind of action. It was an instinctual feeling, really. Janey had always been the one he would talk to when he needed it as they were growing up, but he tried to think about all the times his mother had comforted him when he was little. Anything from a scraped knee to a teacher scolding him about a bad test score; maybe she felt something like this.

 

He tentatively walked down the stairs and found her seated at the dining room table, where she had always mysteriously spent much of her time in the house. Upon spotting him, she quickly wiped her eyes on her sleeve, and gave him the kindest smile she could muster.

 

“Conor, dear, now’s not really the best time.” Funny, maybe they shared a little more in common than he thought.

 

He pulled up a chair and sat down next to her, undeterred. “I know, but I think we need to talk.”

 

“About what, love?”

 

He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “I think you know what about.” He took a breath, and decided that there was no point in beating around the bush. “Do you really…love dad?”

 

She turned her head quickly towards him, and looked into his eyes with her own, still watery. “Conor, _of course_ I do.”

 

Maybe this was true on some level, but Conor was tired. He couldn’t recall a moment of genuine honesty he’d ever shared with either of his parents, and felt with a rising irritation that it was past time to be upfront. “Mum, I get that, but please just be real with me for a second. Do you actually, really, _love_ Harris?”

 

She narrowed her eyes at him. “And since when do you call him Harris?”

 

_Since he stopped being my father._

 

He chose to say nothing, however, and she gave it another moment before she sighed and leaned back in her chair, looking more weary than he’d ever seen her before. “I was head over heels for him, once upon a time. But sometimes…with marriage, things happen and people change, and you find can yourself getting lost in time and commitments that you once thought were certain.”

 

That was scary. Terrifying, really, when Conor thought about the ways that could affect his own life one day. Shaking away any thoughts of inevitable tragedy, he knew he should stay on topic. “Does he make you happy?”

 

She tried to hold his gaze, but quickly looked away. So softly, that he almost wondered if he’d heard her correctly, she said, “I can’t tell my son that.” She hesitated, and then continued, her voice wavering slightly, “I created a life with him for my children, and all I could ever want is for us is to be…stable.”

 

“Mum, things haven’t been stable for a while now. I’ve only been back for a few days, but all anyone ever does is try to talk around the times that he’s not drinking and hope that the next day gets better. Janey saw that and…and that’s why she had to get out.”

 

She took his hand and held it with a deathly grip, her eyes tearing up again. “Please, Conor, please don’t talk like that.”

 

He could feel how much this conversation pained her, but he was running out of room to take any further steps back. “I’m sorry, but I don’t want to pretend that things aren’t the way that they are. I can’t hide from the things that make you hurt so much, and you have to stop trying, too.”

 

He took another deep breath, his heart suddenly racing at the split second decision he made. “I’ve been thinking a lot about honesty lately. In the last few months, I’ve decided to tell people the truth about who I really am, and it’s made my life so much better. I’ve stopped hiding, stopped running, stopped _lying_ , and I actually feel free.” He took her hand in both of his and looked her dead in the eyes. He originally had no intention of doing this. “I’ll be honest with you if you promise me that you can try to be honest with yourself.”

 

He inhaled as deeply as his lungs would allow, like that would do anything to steady himself. “Mum…I’m gay.”

 

There was a fleeting moment, where his heart almost stopped beating as she let out a sob.

 

_Fuck, was this a mistake?_

 

But what felt like all at once, she was smiling tearfully, and raised his hands up to her lips. “Conor, my love, I sort of thought you might be. I had a feeling that you wouldn’t have been fighting so much at your old school if you really weren’t.”

 

He could’ve laughed, he felt so relieved. He had spent years worth of nights curled up, wondering if he would be disowned if she had even found out. He didn’t want to ask her if that was _okay_ or anything, (he’d also tried to convince himself that he didn’t need either of his parents validation,) but he suddenly realized that he needed to know.

 

“… Do you still love me?”

 

She looked at him with a ferocity that he had never before seen in her. “Listen to me. There is nothing on this _earth_ that could make me stop loving my children.”

 

And Jesus Christ, Conor felt so much like a child, and he could’ve cried right then and there. Before he said anything else, though, he needed to be certain. “Please don’t tell him-”

 

As if right on cue, _Him_ had chosen that exact moment to come bursting through the back door, as loud and boisterous as any other Wednesday night. The scent of whiskey almost immediately invaded his senses, and Conor felt his age-old temper flare up again.

 

“Couldn’t get the bleedin’ front door open again!” He stumbled through the entrance, completely oblivious to anything he might have walked in on. “‘M gonna fix it, right now. Lynn, where’s my tools? That door’s been makin’ me mad for _ages!_ ” He took precisely four steps forward before he tripped over nothing at all and slammed into the island, falling flat on his ass.

 

Conor took one look at his father, laughing he was the comedian of the century, and one look at his mother, who had begun weeping into her hands. It was in this second that he decided that he just couldn’t watch her take care of Harris for another night, it was all just too much. So he swallowed the bitter pill, and rose up to lift his father off of the floor with both hands.

 

“Alright then, time for bed.”

 

“Bed?! It’s eight o’clock at fuckin’ _night!_ Nah, you’re gon’ drink with me if it fuckin’ kills ya.” He pulled Conor back towards the kitchen, using his considerable strength to veer the both of them off course. It gave Conor a bit of an advantage when he stumbled again, though.

 

Conor looked at his mum, whose red eyes he could only just see through her fingers. He whispered as lowly as he could, “Think about what what I said.”

 

Unfortunately, Harris heard him. “Think about what? Is this about you goin’ to wherever the hell _she_ is? Son, you’ve gotta stay with your family if you know what’s good for ya’.” They were almost to the door of his parents bedroom, and Conor was grateful that it was on the first floor. If he could just get him through the door before he said anything else-

 

“She betrayed us, she did! Leavin’ her family like that, and now my own son’s gonna do the same.” Conor would’ve given anything to forget the sound of his mother’s quiet cries drifting through the house.

“In America, with a bunch o’ _fags_ I don’t doubt! Is that what you want, son? Don’t think I dunno what they’re doin’ over there in-” And finally, Conor could throw him off of his shoulders and onto the bed with more force than was probably necessary. He _was_ going to take the high road and be considerate, maybe take off his shoes for him or something, since it was obvious that he wasn’t in his right mind to do it himself, but Conor was done. He was past done. He was furious, angry at all the things he couldn’t control, at all the ways his family had changed for the worse, and there was absolutely nothing he could do about it.

 

By some kind of divine will, once Harris was on the bed and after a few muttered choice words, it seemed that he’d fallen asleep as quickly as he had gotten himself worked up. Conor shut the door as fast as he could without breaking the glass, and turned around the corner, spotting his mother one last time.

 

She was in tears that never seemed to cease, and there really was nothing he could do about it. Anger and regret filling his heart, he pulled himself together as much as he could and said, “I love you.” Before flying up the stairs and flinging himself into his own bedroom.

 

He paced around the room, positively fuming at the injustice and poor timing of it all, that he’d pretty much forgotten about the milestone he had reached with his mum not even ten minutes before.

 

8:16 pm

Ned: So you all set for the flight?

 

    _________________________________________________________________________________________________

 

It was fortunate that Conor’s flight to California wasn’t scheduled to leave until early Thursday afternoon, because he hardly had a moment of sleep all through the night. Talking to Ned until he fell asleep helped a great deal, but his dreams were filled with blurry images of watery eyes and busted doors. When he woke up that morning, he let himself wonder if the conversation he’d had with his mum helped at all, or if he had just made things all the more real for her. Maybe that was a good thing?

 

Nevertheless, he was so relieved to finally be leaving. He needed a break from the whole country it felt like, to go somewhere warm and bright and shiny and leave the discomfort of his home behind, even for a little while.

 

Lynn was to drive him to the airport, and he wondered if she felt like he was leaving her behind, too.

 

He knew that going to stay with Janey wasn’t, in reality, a _huge_ deal, but sometimes his father could make anything seem that way. In someone else’s family, perhaps, a child going off to university in a far off land to pursue her dreams would be anything but a betrayal, and her brother flying to spend Christmas holiday with her wouldn’t be the end of the world. Conor really had no idea how his mother felt about it, but maybe he could talk to her again on the way, and try to tell her that this didn’t mean that he was leaving his family behind for good.

 

Once the day came to graduate and pursue dreams of his own, however, would that still be the case?

 

With the way things are remaining that way indefinitely, he couldn’t imagine ever making the effort to speak to Harris again. He didn’t know that he’d been subconsciously avoiding the subject until he was looking his anxieties in the face in the middle of the kitchen. He woke up that morning feeling the loss of a certainty he didn’t even know he’d had in the first place; and what would he do now that he knew it was gone?

 

If there’s one thing that eased his mind about the whole situation, it was the conversation that broke out between him and his mum in the car, however bone-breakingly awkward it was.

 

They were turning for an entrance onto the highway when Lynn said, shattering any of his own previous plans to break the ice, “I suppose we never got the chance to finish our conversation last night.”

 

She said it with such casual finality, that the silence of the car seemed to press in on Conor with every second that passed as he tried to find a response. What does that mean? Did she change her mind? Which part of the conversation was she talking about? It was safe to assume that she didn’t want to talk any more about Harris, so she must be referencing his dramatic coming out. In any other circumstance, it would’ve felt like a much bigger issue than it was, but he’d been so preoccupied by his family troubles that he’d hardly given it a second thought. On the subject of him being gay, what could she possibly want to talk about? Would she, dare he say it, ask _questions?_

 

He really didn’t want to repeat her previous words, but he couldn’t think of anything else to say, and he was running out of time. “What do you wanna talk about?”

 

He couldn’t think of a single instance in his life where Lynn asked him a personal question that pushed any kind of boundary, but he guessed that now was as good a time as any other to break this fragile glass. The most open person in his family was Janey, and he could spend the rest of his days trying to figure out where she got that from; as it definitely wasn’t either of their parents.

 

“Well, you’re gay.”

 

_Oh my god._

 

Why did she have to make it sound like they were discussing the weather? Hi, I’m Conor Masters, it rained yesterday, and I’m gay. She didn’t sound angry, sad, happy, or otherwise, and he would’ve killed for some inflection in her voice.

 

“I most certainly am.”

 

If she had any plans on where she would take this, she wasn’t showing it. He supposed he should keep it light and open, any attempt to shift the mood from, ‘My son’s a homosexual and I don’t know what to do about it’ to something like, ‘My son’s a homosexual and I want to learn more about how to accept him.’ Or at least work on talking to each other like real human beings for the first time.

 

So to show that he was willing to open up, he took a plunge he never thought he’d be taking and asked, “Is there anything you wanna know?”

 

She kept her eyes on the road and her hands on the wheel. “How did you know? When did you know?”

 

Conor thought for a few seconds about how to tell her without bringing up any painful memories that surrounded stories of Janey bringing boys home when he was younger. He could’ve given her a dismissive, one-worded answer and gone about his day in peace, but after that speech he gave her last night about honesty, he may as well give her some of his own backstory.

 

“Well, I spent a lot of time trying to ignore it, but I guess there came a time when I figured out that I wouldn’t like girls the same way all my friends did.” He’d grown up with a couple girls who had been downright tomboys that he developed small crushes on, but after he and Ned got together, he realized that it was just their masculinity that he was attracted to. “I guess I _tried_ to have crushes? But none of it felt really…real. S’pose I was about thirteen.” He hoped she wouldn’t ask why it took him so long to tell her the truth; it was painfully obvious.

 

“Do you have a boyfriend?”

 

It was so unlikely that Conor would have a boyfriend going to school where he did that he was surprised she’d even ask. It was so ludicrous that it was almost funny. “Yeah, actually.” Should he confess? If this was an attempt on her part to have more presence in his life, he might as well tell the truth. “It’s Ned; you met him when you picked me up on Sunday.”

 

She looked at him in surprise for the first time since they left the house. “Your roommate?”

 

He snorted. “Yeah, my roommate.”

 

“My, how convenient.”

 

Now what the hell does _that_ mean? Did she disapprove? Did she somehow know about what they got up to behind closed doors? (Not that it was really much to even blush about, but he looked out the window, doing just that.) As willing as he was to open up to her, she had to give him some kind of…feedback, for lack of a better term, in response.

 

“So…what do you think about gay people?” God, this was so painful.

 

She side-eyed him, but she didn’t look upset. “As much of a prude as you think I must be, Conor Masters, I don’t think you’re going to hell. I’ve actually had gay friends, and no, I don’t think there’s anything wrong with it.”

 

“Really?”

 

She chuckled. “Yes! People had gay friends, even in the nineties, you know.”

 

Well sure, this was probably obvious, but he’d never really thought about it before. His mother, Lynn Masters, hanging out with gay people? Unheard of. He wanted to know if Harris knew anything about that, but he doubted it, and he didn’t want to ask.

 

“Do you still talk to them?”

 

She sighed, suddenly looking somewhat far away. “No, not really. Not a lot of time to talk to old friends when…well, anyway, I just want you to know that nothing could make you any less my son. I gave birth to you; I think I can handle you having a boyfriend.”

 

Conor laughed, defying his own expectations. In an instant, it felt like a tremendous weight had been lifted off of his shoulders, and he wished he’d known sooner that he had at least one parent he could be honest with.

 

“Will you have kids one day?”

 

He almost choked. “Mum, I’m seventeen; I don’t know! _Maybe,_ but that’s the last thing on my mind.”

 

She threw her head back and laughed. “I’m just teasing you, dear. All I’m saying is that it would bring me such joy to be a grandmother. No pressure, though.”

 

_Unbelievable._

 

In the remaining hour or so of the trip to the airport, Conor had achieved the impossible: having a real conversation with his mother outside the limits of school and rugby. Sure, he’d probably jump off a cliff before telling her any of his deepest darkest secrets, but it was like they’d given each other unspoken permission to really _talk._ He knew it was far too early to talk any more about her marriage, but she even asked him more questions about Ned. She actually seemed genuinely interested, which was completely new to him, and he welcomed the shift in their relationship. He took a chance and asked her if she still talked to Janey, and listened thoughtfully as she told him about their secret weekly phone calls. Though her name was now hardly spoken in their house, she still knew everything that was going on with her, even if her integration into north American culture could give her a heart attack at any moment.

 

By the time she was waving him off at airport security, he was feeling like he’d just gotten to know a whole new person. His mother was no longer this mysterious, distant person who partially raised him; and even though she wasn’t ready to talk about what was really happening in her personal life, he knew that he had an extra person on his side. Perhaps people like Harris were the exception in family, not the norm.

 

Maybe now he could let himself get on a plane with fewer worries on his back.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay! Next chapter is gonna be his time in California with his sister, and it's gonna be a lot of fun! (Also, *gasp* next chapter we'll dive back into Wesley's character arc.)
> 
> Please leave a comment!! For all ya'll who regularly give me feedback on this story, I write with you in my heart <3


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Conor's winter holiday, part two! Group chats, late night phone calls, and new experiences, full speed ahead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You have no idea how relieved I am to finally get this done! Believe me when I say that I've gone THROUGH IT. But the wait is over, and I hope you enjoy the latest installment of the fic that has taken over my life. 
> 
> I said Wesley's POV would be in this chapter, but I lied. It's actually the next chapter, which I'll be posting immediately after this one so you don't even have to wait.
> 
> Also SPOILER WARNING (but it's important to keep you informed,) there's some weed use in the middle-ish of this one, but it's all in good fun. This is a consensual household, my friends.

 

 

 

The flight, to put it simply, was long.

 

Very, _very,_ long.

 

So long in fact, that Conor was getting tired of watching inflight movies, and he regretted not downloading any more strange, thought provoking LGBT movies on Netflix before leaving. He attempted at least an hour of sleep, but the whine of the engines and the pressure of high altitude travel was making him crazy. Janey had secured him a second-class ticket, but still, he wished there was anything he could do to make ten, treacherous hours pass by any faster.

 

So he did what he normally does when he had hours of classes to sit through, or long nights away from school: think about his boyfriend.

 

It’s not like they’d never see each other again or anything, but he couldn’t help it; he missed the self-educated, slightly pretentious, frustratingly adorable boy. He’d gotten so used to having someone to go back to at the end of a long day of class and practice, that on the first morning he woke up at home, he opened his eyes expecting to see Ned sleeping peacefully across from him. He’d wasted so much time trying to convince everyone that he wasn’t gay that he never spared a thought to what it might feel like to actually have a boyfriend.

 

And it was just magical!

 

The whole experience: building a friendship, developing a crush, confessing his feelings and having it actually work out was a revelation for him. He used to see couples walking around as he grew up, and knew what it was supposed to look like when his childhood friends had ‘girlfriends,’ but these feelings were nothing like he’d ever expected. He just wanted to be close to him all the time and kiss him senseless whenever he had the chance. He didn’t know anything about how relationships progressed, but he guessed this is what people meant when they talked about the honeymoon stage. Regardless, he wanted to ride this wave for as long as he could.

 

Throughout the few days that they’ve been apart, Conor found himself missing the smallest things about him. Sure, he missed various nights spent making out and waking up in his bed, but he also daydreamed of things he didn’t realize he’d noticed in the first place. He missed the way Ned looked away whenever they held eye contact for too long, or how he pursed his lips whenever he spotted Conor looking his way during English. It felt like he could look at him for the next hundred years, so why not start now?

 

He missed the fire in his eyes whenever he talked about something Conor hadn’t spent even a minute considering. Fuck, that kid was so smart about pretty much everything. He’d mention these obscure phrases in passing that were completely foreign to Conor, things like ‘toxic masculinity,’ or ‘gentrification,’ or ‘disenfranchisement;’ things that made him feel like he should pick up a book once in a while. He missed seeing the changes in his face whenever Conor said something too affectionate, like he was trying not to look pleased about it. He even missed the way Ned would come back to the room smelling like an ashtray, and his heart jumped in his chest whenever he smelled cigarette smoke.

 

Everything that kid does is genius, and Conor only wanted to know him more with each day that passed them by.

 

He missed Ned’s cheekbones, his leg hair, the way his fingertips felt on Conor’s skin, and so much more. Anything they did was electric, and he felt like he was dreaming whenever he got to feel Ned’s ribs under his hands; it was so hard to take things slow when they spent so much time together. How slow was he supposed to take it when they finally saw each other again? One of the perks of being seventeen was that it seemed like he couldn’t live another day without Ned’s tongue in his mouth, and it was driving him mad. He tried to limit the times he let himself imagine all the ways he wanted to get closer to moments that he was guaranteed to have alone, but he couldn’t help but wonder if Ned felt the same way. Something told him it was still too early to ask.

 

He wanted to tell him all of these things, to even _show_ him, but he was kind of worried about coming on too strongly. They’d only been officially together for what, a month? Shit, but it felt like so much longer after all the things they’d been through. That, and this was the longest time they’ve spent apart since they first met; how could he be expected to do anything but miss him? He should really try to get over the concept of whatever a ‘normal’ relationship looks like. They were gay teenagers holed up in the middle of the Irish countryside, surrounded by irritating and unpredictable people, and there was absolutely nothing normal about it.

 

It’s not just the fact that Ned was one of the smartest, strongest, and most attractive people he’d ever met, it was that he cared about Conor from the moment they became friends. He knew how stupid Ned thought rugby was, yet he still sat in on most of their practices. Okay, Ned thought he was hot, sure, but you don’t sit on the bleachers for an hour in freezing temperatures for someone you only want to look at. And when Ned found him on the boat (which felt like years ago,) yeah, he was angry at the time, but he was also amazed at how he knew exactly where to find him. And he cared enough about his happiness to pull him back into the match when he thought he’d failed again. Ned had his back, and Conor would be forever grateful.

 

Even though his basic instincts told him to run far away from anyone who might pull the truth from him, he felt drawn to Ned like no one he’d ever met before. There was this unknown voice in his ears that told him to follow this boy to wherever he wanted to go. For instance, after the match when Weasel broke Conor’s nose, he wasn’t thinking in the slightest when he found Ned in the trees. Conor didn’t have a plan on where he was going, he just wanted to get out, and it was like some outside force pulled them together; it wasn’t until then that he knew he only wanted to be in his arms.

 

Everything about his partner felt right, and it solidified as soon as he realized that curled up with each other was the only place Conor felt like he was really home. Even their differences couldn’t make him hesitant about how good they were for one another. Ned was as outwardly different as Conor felt, and he loved that about him. He didn’t try to fit in in any way, and it made Conor feel invincible. Ned took pride in the things that separated him from everyone else, and he wouldn’t have been able to come out at all (literally and hypothetically,) if it hadn’t been for him.

 

So the flight was long, painfully, mind-numbingly long, but he had plenty to dream about without once closing his eyes.

  


      _____________________________________________________________________________________________

  


Puppy Parade

 

3:32 pm (PST)

Honeybunch: So you fools don’t think ASMR is the most pleasant experience to ever bless our senses?

 

Tall Boi: No!! Why would I wanna listen to people eating??

 

Twink Town: I like nail tapping and stuff like that, but I mostly like the visual stim

 

Tall Boi: Okay ye, sign me up for some slime vids

 

Disaster Boy: its boringgggg

 

Honeybunch: But like, I could sit for hours listening to someone whisper in my ears like that.

 

Honeybunch: And the woman who eats pickles is a certified genius!

 

Tall Boi: GROSS it makes me wanna shriek

 

Twink Town: I’ve watched HOURS of makeup destruction! Dismantling consumerism one smeared lipstick at a time

 

The Hot One: Hello

 

Tall Boi: Conor!!! How was the flight??

 

Disaster Boy: please save me from this conversation

 

The Hot One: Ughhhh it was so bad

 

The Hot One: It was fine but SO FUKCING LONG

 

Twink Town: Aww

 

The Hot One: I’m looking for baggage claim and I feel like a very tired rat in a maze

 

Honeybunch: Who cares about the airport, you’re in California and I’m jealous!

 

The Hot One: Am I? I thought I was somewhere in the fifth dimension

 

Tall Boi: Well you can settle this dispute! How do you feel about ASMR??

 

The Hot One: uhhhhh

 

The Hot One: It’s very….

 

The Hot One: Crunchy

 

Honeybunch: How insightful.

 

Tall Boi: Ugh never say that word to me again please

 

The Hot One: I guess I like the cookie decorating ones

 

Twink Town: I’m starting a stim groupchat, you’ll soon understand

  
  


The California half of his holiday really started on Friday morning, and Conor would never be able to fully recall what happened in the hours between Janey picking him up and finally being able to sleep. He was more than excited to see her as she ran up to him at the airport and threw herself into his arms, but he was a sore, sleepy mess after ten hours curled up on a plane.

 

So it wasn’t until he woke up in her house’s spare bedroom that the rush of elation about being in San Francisco finally hit him. One of her roommates that he couldn’t remember the name of left for some other county for a couple months, so they refrained on subletting it for Conor’s sake. It wasn’t hot by any means of the word, but he wasn’t freezing and the sun was filtering through the window to greet him. His family had gone on rare trips to other nearby countries, but this was the first time that Conor found himself somewhere totally different, and he was completely at the will of his own volition. Well, that and Janey’s unquenchable desire to shock him that must’ve been locked into her DNA.

 

He threw on a shirt and stepped out to the kitchen, where he found Janey and her other roommate; Janey preparing coffee and breakfast alongside a girl who’s name he racked his brain for sitting on the counter.

 

“Good morning, sleeping beauty! You feelin’ alive again?” Janey had already set an extra coffee mug out for him.

 

He pulled up a bar stool and sat down at the counter next to her roommate. “Yeah, pretty much.” He looked up. “I’m really sorry, but I can’t remember your name.”

 

She snorted. “That’s okay, cause we’ve never met! I’m Leilani.” She eyed him for a little longer than he was comfortable with before shaking her head and adding, “He looks at me in the exact same way you did when we met, Janey; like he’s never seen an indigenous person before.”

 

Conor looked away, his face heating up in embarrassment. He didn’t mean to stare, but he’d also hardly witnessed someone so…inked. She didn’t look any older than Janey, but somehow she was littered in tattoos, judging by what he could see from her legs alone, swinging about a foot away from his face. She was wearing a sweatshirt, but skin he could see was covered in various artworks, and he vaguely thought that if his mother had seen any more, she would’ve fainted on the spot.

 

He wasn’t afraid to admit to himself that she was beautiful, with her long hair tied up in a bun, and maybe if he’d spent more time in any other place besides the suburbs, he wouldn’t have been so taken aback by it.

 

“Nah, I just think it’s because I’m the first person he’s ever met with a tattoo.” She grinned, showing off the most recent one on her shoulder that she’d presented to him the day before; after asking him to keep it on the down-low to their mum however, and spare her from the lectures she’d recieve during their phone calls.

 

“Sorry.” Conor muttered simply, unsure of what to say.

 

Leilani laughed and shook it off. “No worries, consider it step one of our plan to open up your baby gay mind to California culture while you’re here.”

 

Conor eyed his sister suspiciously. “Sorry, what?”

 

She gave him a mischievous smile over the coffee pot. “What, you thought we were gonna do normal tourist shit? Oh no, we’re taking you out to see what _real_ culture looks like.”

 

He rolled his eyes, knowing that there had never been a way to stop Janey and her mysterious plans. “Whatever that is, I look forward to it. And did you tell all of your friends that I’m gay?” He was just getting used to having the people around him learn the truth; he wasn’t sure what to think about complete strangers knowing what was once his biggest secret.

 

Janey narrowed her eyes at him. “No, just Leilani. I do have _some_ respect for your private life.”

 

That was rich, considering that she’d been asking him for details about his very existence since he could learn to speak.

 

Leilani plopped down on the bar stool next to him in one fell swoop, resting her chin on her hand and looking at him with a kind, unabashed interest. “But she did tell me about your boyfriend! Can we see a pic?” How did Conor end up surrounded by the nosiest people on Earth?

 

Resigning himself to over a week of excitable twenty-somethings, he sighed and retreated to his room to grab his phone.

 

9:46 am

Me: Quick send me a selfie

 

Ned: Um? Okay?

 

_Ned sent a photo_

  


Conor tried to ignore the tightness in his chest at what was an undeniably cute picture of Ned popping up on screen. He would also die with the knowledge that he was wearing Conor’s favorite hoodie, too.

 

Janey and Leilani’s faces both dawned in identical expressions of endearment when Conor showed them about a minute later.

 

“ _Conor!_ He’s so cute!” They chimed, practically in unison.

 

He couldn’t help his heart softening at their obvious approval. All he could think to say was, “Yeah, he really is.”

 

Janey looked over her shoulder from the frying pan where she’d cracked a hearty number of eggs, a knowing look on her features. “You know, Lei had the exact same look on her face when she first met her girlfriend. It was so sweet I almost cried about it.”

 

“Yeah right, I saw the tears.” She turned back to Conor. “She’s so embarrassing, the way she cares so much about other people’s love lives.”

 

Conor smirked and took a sip from his mug, feeling his fatigue slipping away. “Don’t I know it.”

 

They lounged around the kitchen and ate Janey’s marvelous breakfast together, Conor reeling from how at home he already felt. He usually preferred that people get to know him through his own words, but Leilani regarded him as though they were already friends, and he was relieved that neither of them were aware of the concept of ice-breakers. The roommates complained about one of their professors to him, as they took a couple of the same classes, and he was content just to hear them detail all of the things they had in common.

 

“If it wasn’t for your sister, I swear, I’d be eating instant noodles every day. This girl is a godsend of a roomie.”

 

Conor nodded, not forgetting how much he’d missed Janey’s cooking since she left. Somehow, she’d become the sole cook for the family, and he wondered how their parents got by without her daily meals. She had full intention of passing on her skills to him, but he supposed they never really had the time when he was being shipped off to boarding school and she was too busy with her own teenage rebellion during the summers.

 

It was during breakfast that Conor realized that he so rarely got to see his sister hang out with any of her friends; the people she brought home when they grew up were so below their mother’s standards that she only snuck them in and whispered behind closed doors. Of course he knew that Janey could have hundreds of friends if she so pleased, but it was nice to finally see her in what was clearly her element. He hoped that as he met more of them, it would be just as comfortable to sit and watch their dynamic with the rest of her companions as it was with Leilani.

 

The girls chose to abandon their dishes on the counter, as to take further advantage of the absence of their third tidy roommate (Jason, he later learned was called,) and hatched a scheme for what the three of them should embark on Conor’s first official day in California.

  


10:51 am

Me: Janey and her roommate think you’re cute

 

Me: And I 100% agree

 

Ned: Aww I’m glad! But you owe me a sudden selfie in return…

 

Me: I feel like I haven’t showered in 7 years gimme a sec

 

Ned: You know what sudden means, right?

 

Me: Oof okay

 

_You sent a photo_

 

Ned: Thank you :) Time for another haircut I think

 

Me: Pshh okay, that’s 2nd on the list once I get back

 

Ned: Second, huh? What’s the first?

 

Me: Gotta go, Janey and Leilani are taking me on a tour of their favourite spots

 

Ned: WOWWW okay buddy I see you

 

Me: ;)

  


      _____________________________________________________________________________________________

 

  

In every sense of the word, Conor had never seen a more beautiful city. The sun was shining down on him as the afternoon rolled in, and the hills seemed to stretch all the way up to the heavens as the three of them wandered around. It wasn’t that he had anything against snow, especially around the holidays, but it was such a weight off his shoulders that any hint of frost was nowhere to be found; and it was warmer than he’d get to experience for months once he got back home.

 

Janey was right, she and Leilani only took him down lesser known streets, tiny bistros, and showed him the city through alleyway short cuts. San Francisco, with its shimmering buildings and rolling hills seemed to invite him to stay in its open arms, and within an hour of exploration his phone would soon run out of space to house all the pictures he was taking.

 

Janey also began filming him almost as soon as they left her house, insistent on capturing these precious moments together. She was a film student after all, with a deep passion for documentaries, and by extension, subtly documenting her lavish lifestyle on her Instagram story.

 

Conor looked at the camera as soon as it was on him and sighed. “What do I have to do to get a camera out of my face while I’m here? Don’t tell me it’s for a project or anything; I know it’s bullshit.”

 

“It’s my destiny, Conor. Why shouldn’t I give the world something to remember you by when I’m ninety?”

 

“Why do you assume I’ll be dead before you?”

 

“Please, if regular head injuries don’t kill you, the stress will.”

 

“Oh yeah, like you filming me all the time is gonna help with my stress levels.” He was used to it though; Janey had been stalking him with a camera for about as long as he could remember.

 

“Come on! It’ll be good content for you and Ned’s wedding.”

 

If there was one person alive whom he wouldn’t allow to embarrass him, it was Janey Masters. “Well I’m not paying you to film _that,_ either.” Before she could open her mouth, he added, “Don’t tell him I said that.”

  


2:23 pm

Me: Hey man

 

Victor: Hey! How’s women weed and weather?

 

Me: What now

 

Victor: Look it up, it’s a banger

 

Me: Okay then. And it’s pretty sick! But Janey knew that I didn’t get her a xmas present yet, so we all went shopping so I can get her one

 

Victor: Haa I love that. Who’s we?

 

Me: Me and Jay, plus her roommate Leilani. She’s like…really cool. No one we’ll ever be cool enough to hang out with, that’s for sure

 

Me: I had to ask her what to get Janey, I suck at giving gifts

 

Victor: Tell me about her and I can fall in love at a distance ?

 

Me: lol not a chance. They take some classes together, and she’s got so many tattoos. And a girlfriend

 

Victor: Damn! Maybe I should move to california….

 

Victor: Anyway, what’re you getting your sis??

 

Me: Well we’re at this antique shop? And I saw some of those, like, little fat cherub statues that are everywhere somehow, I feel like she’d be into that kinda thing

 

Victor: Hm niche interests dude, I’ll never understand

 

Victor: You know what else I don’t understand? How I never knew that Wally has a girlfriend!! What is it about me that makes you guys think you can keep such important things from me??

 

Me: I feel like you just answered your own question. And I never thought about how mysterious he is, like it took forever for him to tell us that he’s got so many siblings

 

Me: What do your spidey-senses tell you

 

Victor: To be honest with you, they tell me that he might have some deeper shit goin on. I only wanna know shit cause I care!

 

Me: Idk man, some people are just private like that

 

Victor: I must’ve been a private detective in a previous life, because the need to know is in my fucking bones

 

Me: Maybe it’s cause you’re hiding something, and you’re just trying to distract us from some kinda conspiracy

 

Victor: Hehe you’ll never know then >:)

  


By the end of their first night venturing out, Conor thought he succeeded at forcing his body into submitting to Pacific Standard Time. It was almost midnight when they rolled in, and God, he nearly lost all control over his legs. How the hell did anyone around here walk up and down those hills every day? Janey and Leilani still had enough energy to take over the living room, the animals, but he was done using his brain to communicate with other humans for what felt like the next forty-eight hours.

 

Well, almost. It would be about nine in the morning back home, and he thought he had a couple of brain cells left to spare for Ned.

 

Conor must’ve caught him just a few minutes after he’d woken up, because Ned was still in bed, looking sleepy and just…perfect.

 

“Good morning.” He sighed, eyes half closed and cheeks rosy from the warmth of his bed.

 

“Good evening. I didn’t wake you up, did I?”

 

“I wouldn’t mind if you did, but no, I’m just not ready to get up yet. I’m gonna miss sleeping in so much.”

 

So did Conor, but he missed waking up next to him so much more. It’d be worth waking up at five in the morning for six days a week just to share a bed with him for one.

 

“So, how’s it going over there so far? Made a group of new American friends yet?”

 

Conor chuckled, feeling comfort and sleepiness wash over him at the sound of Ned’s voice. “It’s pretty fun, no doubt about it. But God, Janey and Leilani took me _everywhere_ today, and I can barely walk. How do people even park up the hills? Fall down once and you’ll never see the light of day again.”

 

Ned smirked. “Gotta be more than just the hills, right?”

 

“Oh yeah, Neddie, it’s… totally new. It’s no wonder the whole state’s got a reputation for the sun; it’s gorgeous.”

 

“Do anything I should be envious of yet?”

 

“Well, Janey doesn’t wanna do anything too cliche, so we didn’t really do any sight-seeing. But more than that, gay people are walking around all over the place. It’s like…it’s like they own the city, ya know? It’s inspiring, cause we feel like such an extreme back home; but they’re not even worried, as far as I can tell. Not just gay people being out together, but, I don’t know…feminine men and masculine women, and people in mid-transition, I guess. And it looks like none of them are lookin’ over their shoulders all the time like I would be.”

 

Ned smiled, sending Conor to the moon. “That sounds wonderful, Conor.”

 

“Yeah, we went to the Castro and Janey told me all about Harvey Milk and how he pretty much turned this place into like, a sanctuary for queer people. You know about him?”

 

His eyes lit up. “Of course! First openly gay American politician, that man was a hero.”

 

“I thought you might; you know basically everything.” Ned rolled his eyes at this. “But being here, I already feel freer than ever. I’ll have to bring you along next time, I just know you’d love it.”

 

Ned huddled even further into his blankets, and Conor would’ve given anything to wrap him up and fall asleep right then and there. “I’d like that, although San Francisco might be a little high class for me. But I’d go anywhere we could go on a date without worrying about who’s gonna say what.”

 

“Nah, nothing’s gonna stop me from taking you out just about as soon as we get back; especially since your birthday’s coming up.”

 

Ned’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t look the slightest bit annoyed. “Ah, you know me, Conor. I couldn’t care less about my birthday and you know it.”

 

Conor yawned and shrugged as much as he could whilst lying down. “So what? I’m not gonna pass up an opportunity to show you just how awesome you are.”

 

Ned looked like he was trying, but failed to suppress a small grin. “If you say so.”

  


      _____________________________________________________________________________________________

  


Conor woke up on Christmas morning with a warmth rumbling in his chest. It was so different than every other year; there was no child-like excitement about opening presents (he must’ve grown out of that a while ago,) or any gut wrenching anxiety about having to sit with his tense family underneath a tree. He didn’t have anything against Christmas, but it was like a breath of fresh air when he realized that Janey and Leilani wouldn’t be putting up a tree or anything more extravagant than a few string lights around their little house. They were college students after all, and Janey was anything but traditional.

 

He could faintly hear his sister’s voice through the wall in the kitchen, and wondered how she was always the last person to go to bed and the first to wake up in the morning. He opened his door and padded out on bare feet, expecting her to turn around and greet him with her plans for the day, but stopped in his tracks when he saw her back turned and her shoulders slightly forward.

 

She was so quiet and still that he didn’t realize she was on the phone until she said, “I know how hard it is for you- yeah, I really do, and I’m sorry. But there’s nothing I can tell you that I haven’t said before and… yeah, I know, but you wouldn’t have called me if you thought I could say anything else.” Funny how Conor noticed that her accent had grown faint since she moved to California until she spoke to their mother.

 

“No, please don’t start that again, because you know it’s not true. I know you’re upset, but I only want you to do what’s best for _you,_ ever think of that? …This isn’t the time to tell you to let go- yes, _yes_ , you can and that would be okay.” She turned suddenly, her elbows over the counter, when she saw Conor leaning against the door frame. She gave him such a resigned look, but averted her eyes and continued. “Yeah, he’d understand just fine. I can’t imagine what it’s like, but I know that some things can’t be forgotten or ignored…God, Mum, please don’t talk like that- yeah, I get it.”

 

She glanced at Conor one last time and sighed. “Mum, I have to go now, but you know I love you and it’s all okay… Ha, it really doesn’t feel like it, but right back at ‘cha.” She tapped her screen and groaned, resting her forehead on the countertop. Conor took this as his cue to finally walk over to her, and she wrapped her arms around him, remaining true to her lifelong habit.

 

“Wanna go out on the balcony and have some coffee?”

 

“Sure.” Conor didn’t need to ask questions with her; he knew she’d tell him at some point anyway, but now he found that there wasn’t much mystery to her conversation.

 

They stepped out into the warm and quiet morning, and she took a long sip from her mug. Janey must’ve been drinking coffee since she was ten years old, and somehow it always kept her grounded.

 

“Damn, the city’s always so silent on Christmas Day.” Conor couldn’t remember the last time she cried (he wasn’t sure if he should expect her to,) but she also didn’t seem particularly upset; just sort of thoughtful and…drained?

 

“Do I wanna ask what happened?” He asked.

 

She gave him a half-hearted smirk and said, “I dunno, do you?”

 

“… Janey.”

 

She leaned over the railing and gazed down into the street, her eyes unfocused. “Dad left last night and he hasn’t been back since. They didn't fight or anything, but he’s not picking up the phone, and I think mum’s close to giving in.” She looked at him, her eyes asking if she should continue and he nodded.

 

“I’ve been telling her for _ages_ that she should leave him, but she just can’t seem to wrap her head around that. You know why I left, right? It wasn’t that I wanted to leave her behind, but I just couldn’t handle it any more. She refuses to see what’s real, and I had to see what was out here. Dad’s not a bad person, I don’t think, but I don’t know if there’ll ever be getting through to him, about anything.” She shook her head and kept on, “God, I’d give anything to be able to show her how to even relax once in a while, ya know? To make her see that there’s so much more to life that what’s inside that house.”

 

Conor briefly wanted to wonder aloud where Harris was or what he was up to, but knew there wouldn’t be any point to it. The three days in his house were enough to see that some things couldn’t be changed just by waiting for them to happen on their own.

 

“Are you angry?” She asked, pushing him out of silence.

 

He shrugged. “No, not really. I had a talk with her the other night and I know that she knows everything isn’t perfect, or even just _okay,_ but I haven’t really thought about what she could do besides…seeing shit for what it really is. I reckon it only makes sense for her to leave him, and to be honest, that sounds like a pretty good idea.” What would Harris do if he was on his own? “Like, I don’t even know who that guy is any more, because he’s definitely not Dad. I’m not really upset, I just hope she can figure it out.”

 

She broke out into a grin. “Look at you, baby bird; actually communicating your feelings! You really have changed, huh?”

 

He scoffed and gave her shoulder a light push. “Yeah, and only for the better, I think.”

 

She finished the last of her coffee and groaned into the sky. “I know it feels so fucking out of place right now, and hardly matters in the grand scheme of things, but I guess I should wake Lei up so we can open presents. You down?”

 

Conor nearly forgot all about it. He was beginning to think that traditions like those were only for families who had their shit together. It wouldn’t do him any good to try to forget about the storm brewing in Ireland, so he ran a hand through his hair and said, “Yeah, but I’m gonna go for a run before anything.”

  


      _____________________________________________________________________________________________

  


Janey was right, the city was nearly empty as he ran through the streets, doing his best to remember where he came from so he wouldn’t get lost. The hills were murder, but they were the perfect method to get his swirling thoughts and emotions sorted out. His legs ached and the sweat dripping down his back made his troubles seem clearer.

 

Was he angry? No. Was he sad or guilty? No? Was he…disappointed? Hm, maybe a little, but when all was said and done in the end, he hoped his mum was finally beginning to see the truth about her husband. He was no longer present, and it would likely take hell freezing over before he came back to earth. Would Conor be upset if they separated? Not at all, because it would mean that he could really go home and build a relationship with the woman who’d felt trapped his whole life.

 

He hadn’t given much thought to the concept of love until he kissed Ned for the first time, and now, would that idea change for him? It would be a long while until he let that word pass from his lips in regard to his boyfriend, but he couldn’t deny that he was falling for him more and more each day. How would those feelings shift now he knew that some things don’t last forever? With time, how would Conor’s heart shift for Ned? How would Ned’s own feelings change for him? How long would it last when they fell in love? Was that something that _anyone_ really knew for sure?

 

Oh well. Running through the streets of a strange and beautiful new city, passing by shining buildings and residential homes, no doubt teeming with the lives of those who were free to be themselves, Conor couldn’t find it within himself to feel hopeless. He was seventeen in a bright and massive new world, with a boy who made his heart melt waiting for him thousands of miles away.

 

He had time.

  


By the time he got back to their house and washed away any remaining tension, Janey and Leilani (well, just Janey, actually,) prepared a breakfast that was heaven-sent.

 

“Jay, please teach me how to cook before I leave, I’m begging you.” Conor pleaded, swallowing a mouthful of what could only be organic potatoes.

 

She hummed through her mimosa. “Only if you promise not to start any fires this time; we don’t have renter’s insurance here.”

 

“You call that a fire? Please, it wasn’t like we had to call anyone about it.”

 

“You set off the sprinkler system and ruined your own birthday dinner.”

 

Leilani was looking between the both of them in obvious amusement. “Don’t worry about it, Conor. I almost gave her food poisoning once, and it took a month before she even let me back into the kitchen again.”

 

A little later and the three of them were in the living room, unceremoniously revealing their presents, Conor looking at the blank CD in his hands. It held every song they’d listened to together in their youth, along with ones that Janey just _knew_ he’d love.

 

“Thanks and all, but why would you make me a CD when I already follow you on Spotify and see all of your playlists anyway?”

 

She rolled her eyes and gave him a little smack on the back of his head. “Just shut up and appreciate the sentiment.” It gave him a good idea of what to get Ned for his birthday, however. He loved old shit like that, and it would be even better if Conor figured out how to put it all on tape.

 

He felt a hand on his shoulder next to him and turned to see Leilani looking at him seriously. He raised his eyebrows before she said, “Conor, young one, how would you feel about smoking some weed with us today?”

 

Well that came out of nowhere. And she asked him as though she was his aunt or something proposing that he help her steal a car.

 

“Woah, uh… I dunno. What’s that even like?” He knew nothing about it beyond thousands of songs about smoking, and through the eyes of a little brother witnessing his sister getting grounded over it so many times.

 

Leilani took a deep breath, much like the ones Ned took whenever he was about to go on some sort of tangent. “Well, it depends on the kind of strain you get, whether it’s mostly indica, sativa, or a hybrid, the THC and CBD percentages it has and the total levels of cannabinoids-”

 

“Jesus, Lei, let him breathe, will you?” Yet Janey was swung over the couch as though this was an everyday occurrence for them.

 

Conor’s mind spun. “Yeah, sorry, are you speaking english?”

 

Leilani sighed with a mischievous grin to rival Victor’s. “Basically, it depends on what kind you get. But with this guy,” She pulled out a joint, apparently out of thin air, “You’ll feel like you’re walking on a cloud; it’s one of my favorite strains. And I swear, it’s like seeing the sky for the first time.”

 

This was just a touch overwhelming. Conor wouldn’t say he was particularly intimidated, but he still looked at Janey, hoping for some reassurance.

 

She nodded. “Of course you don’t have to if you don’t want to, but I promise it’ll be cool. It’s become a holiday tradition in this house, and I wanna make you feel included, baby bird. I feel like I’d be robbing you of the true California experience if I didn’t offer at least once.”

 

Lei smirked and said, “It’s a daily tradition for me.”

 

Conor thought for a few moments. When it all came down to it, why not? He was in the safest place in the world, and though Janey was hell-bent on opening up his mind, she would never intentionally steer him wrong. Besides, he could only imagine the look on Victor and Wally’s faces when he told them all about it.

 

“Sure, it sounds fun.”

  


12:38 pm

Me: Hey

 

Ned: Hey handsome, what’s up?

 

Me: So

 

Me: Me Janey and Leilani just smoked a joint

 

Ned: WOAH REALLY? Tell me everything

 

Me: Well for one thing my mouth is hella dry

 

Ned: Wow did you really just say hella?

 

Me: Whoops yeah, Lei says it all the time and I think it’s rubbing off on me

 

Ned: Aha okay, so how do you feel? I’m positively seized with jealousy

 

Me: I feel very… in touch

 

Me: With my body, with the world

 

Me: I also can’t stop laughing at everything. Nothing’s even funny, I just feel so good

 

Ned: That sounds fantastic, does it feel anything like getting drunk?

 

Me: No, not really. Being drunk the world is so out of focus, but everything feels crystal clear right now and I love it

 

Me: And Janey started playing some music and I feel like I can FEEL it. Like I can feel every beat behind my eyes and it feels so amazing

 

Ned: Ughhhh I wish I was there! You should smuggle some back for me

 

Me: What how

 

Ned: I dunno, stick it down your pants or something. I’d KILL to see the puppies stoned

 

Me: Hmm I’ll think about it. The girls say hi by the way

 

Ned: Hi girls!!! I love them already

 

Me: Yeah me too

 

Me: God I’m so excited to kiss you again

 

Me: I’d walk on water just to get you here

 

Me: Did you just take a screenshot

 

Ned: What??? Noooooo of course not!

 

Me: If you show that to anyone I’m setting myself on fire

 

Ned: I would NEVER. Anyway, give me some more high thoughts

 

Me: As Lei would say, I’m feeling myself

 

Me: And I’d tell you all the ways I wanna feel you, but I don’t trust you and your screenshots

 

Ned: Aww :( Well feel free to call me and tell me all about it

  


Conor felt like he was walking on air. As much as Ned asked him to, he really couldn’t describe this feeling, it was just…slow. Slower than he’d ever felt in his life probably, and it was such a relief. Every little thing he was worried about at home didn’t melt away, per say, they just didn’t _matter_ for a blessed moment.

 

He was sprawled over one of the couches with his eyes on the sun outside, Janey’s music thrumming in his ears, and it was almost like he could feel the earth spinning on its axis, as stupid as that sounded. His body felt like it was closing in and expanding all at once, and he felt every breath he took from his fingers to his toes.

 

“So how ya’ feeling, Conor?” Leilani asked from her seat on the floor, completely unchanged in her demeanor with pride on her features.

 

“Solid.” Was all his brain could think to come up with.

 

Janey and Leilani shared a knowing look across the room, and Conor knew that he looked like a puddle on one of the chairs. _Wow,_ this chair was comfortable.

 

His sister proposed they go on a walk, and as much as Conor wished he could just sit around and think about how desperately he wanted to feel Ned’s body up against his, the heavenly light from the outside world was calling to him. So he put his shoes on in a haze and the trio made their way out the door.

 

Damn, this would make sitting through classes a breeze; at first he thought it was outrageous how Leilani did this every day, but now he thought he could understand.

 

“This place is so cool, you guys.”

 

Janey laughed. “Yeah, it is! Maybe you should join me out here and go to school.”

 

He gave this a split second before shaking his head, his thoughts on the only person who could make this experience any better. “Nah, I’d miss Ned too much. He makes me feel like I can do anything.”

 

Janey was between him and Leilani and took both of their hands in hers. “I can’t believe my baby brother has a boyfriend, how sweet.”

 

A sudden notion struck him. No one in the world outside his circle of friends (and now his mum,) knew that he and Ned were together. He’d never actually spoken out loud in full volume how happy he was, or how wonderful all of this made him feel.

 

“I have a boyfriend.” He whispered.

 

Leilani leaned over at him. “What’d you say?”

 

He gripped Janey’s hand and spoke a little louder. “I have a boyfriend.” His heart was racing and it was exhilarating. He took a breath and looked up into the sky, littered with little clouds. “I have a boyfriend! His name’s Ned and he’s so great! I really, _really_ like him!” The rush of these words spilled out of his heart and into the street, and nothing had ever made him feel so free. For once, he could do what he’d wanted to since they got together: shout to everyone on Earth about all the goodness in his life, without fear or regret.

 

“Yeah, Conor, say it loud and say it proud!” Leilani cheered him on.

 

He wanted to hop on the nearest rooftop and sing like a canary. “I’m gay. I’m gay and it’s a good thing!”

 

The three of them lifted their heads at the sound of a window sliding open from above. A young man with bright red hair popped his head out and shouted through a laugh, “Hell yeah, man, Merry Christmas!”

 

Conor gazed up and smiled at him, high from sheer joy and whatever magic was in that joint.

 

Everything was going to be just fine.

  


1:27 pm

Victor, Wally

 

Wally: oooh shit guess who got a kiss under the mistletoe for the 5th year in a row WHOOP WHOOP

  


      _____________________________________________________________________________________________

  


Puppy Parade

10:31 am

 

Tall Boi: So what kinda superpower would you guys have if you got to choose??

 

Disaster Boy: all of em duh

 

Honeybunch: Try picking just one, Wally. You’d be way too powerful with more than two

 

The Hot One: Teleportation so I’d never have to fly again

 

Disaster Boy: why do you gotta ruin everything for me darcy :’(

 

Twink Town: He’s right, I feel so bad for the alternate reality that has an OP Wally

 

Twink Town: I’d have telekinesis so I wouldn’t have to get up to grab another pen; 11 is so lucky

 

Tall Boi: Oh don’t even get me started on Stranger Things that was the sickest shit I’ve ever seen!!! My mums and I have been watching it religiously

 

Twink Town: Have you finished it?

 

Tall Boi: NO, NO SPOILERS

 

Honeybunch: Eleven dies.

 

Tall Boi: WHAT.

 

Disaster Boy: shut up darcy no she doesn’t!!! me n sarah just finished it

 

Tall Boi: Promise?

 

Twink Town: Aww yeah he’s just fucking with you

 

Honeybunch: Hahaaaa >;)

 

Tall Boi: Good cause I was this close to cutting you out of my life Darce

 

Honeybunch: Anyway, I’d have the power to never need sleep. Waste of my time.

 

The Hot One: That is so…

 

Disaster Boy: BORING

 

The Hot One: I was gonna say true to his character, but if the shoe fits

 

Twink Town: Burrrrrn!

 

The Hot One: What would your power be, V?

 

Tall Boi: Hmm I’m gonna say super speed so I could tear ass on the field!!

 

Disaster Boy: nice this is where darcy says thats against some kinda regulation

 

Honeybunch: :( So rude.

 

Twink Town: Time to decide, Wally

 

Disaster Boy: UGHHHH

 

Disaster Boy: id have some of that BIG POWER ENERGY like phoenix in xmen

 

Tall Boi: Ahahaha plain and simple

  


      _____________________________________________________________________________________________

  


Tuesday afternoon rolled around, and Conor was ordered to get dressed and put on his shoes. He figured that this was the moment the girls would stop telling him about their schemes, and it was all he could do to have faith in them.

 

However, their choice to keep him out of the loop this time was completely strategic, and if he’d known they’d be dragging him to a sex shop, they would’ve had to haul him out of the house nearly kicking and screaming. He stopped short at the sight of a bright purple poster outside that shouted, ‘New Year’s Sale! 30% Off All Items!’ and all that came out of his mouth was an exasperated, “Why?”

 

“I’ll explain it when we actually go inside, let’s just hope they don’t ask for ID.”

 

The three of them walked in, the sound of pop music filtering into his crowded mind, and luckily (is he really that lucky?) for him, they didn’t ask him to prove his age.

 

“What’s gonna open my mind in a sex shop?” He asked, trying to look as dignified as possible. He’d never felt more out of his element in his life; and the carpet was leopard print, _why?_

 

Leilani pushed past him. “It’s not a sex shop, Conor, it’s an adult store.”

 

Janey stood in front of him with an air of authority that didn’t match her height. “I feel like there comes a time in all of our lives when sexuality just has to hit you like a brick, ya know? This is to show you… that it’s okay to be open and talk about it. Back home, everything in here is a secret, and it’s so taboo to talk about sex and mastrubation, as if it’s something to be ashamed of. The employees here know everything, and they’re trained to talk about it and answer any questions.”

 

Is it a blessing or a terrible curse that his sister was so transparent?

 

“Besides, it’s not like porn is gonna teach you about any of this stuff.” Leilani chimed in from what looked to be a lingerie display.

 

So Conor veered off from the both of them, relinquishing his soul to the whims of his sister and no doubt looking like a red-hot mess. The least he could do was walk around and try not to look as tense as he inwardly felt. It only took about two minutes of mindlessly walking the floor before an employee came up to him, asking if there was anything he could help him with. Why were all the associates in business casual? He didn’t know what he expected, but something about it just didn’t feel right.

 

“Er, no…I think I’m good, thanks.” Where would he even begin? He vaguely appreciated that he was somewhere that he could ask about anything, but the last place he wanted his questions answered was in a public place of business. So he did a couple laps around the shop, feeling like an alien with his hands in his pockets. His eyes focused on a fleshlight ( _eugh,_ ) flavored condoms ( _what’s the point?_ ) and some downright strange looking vibrators, ( _what shape is that even supposed to be? Where does it go?_ )

 

The girls were having some kind of discussion around a shelf of aphrodisiac bath bombs a few paces away from him, and Conor was lost in confusion. He was so inexperienced in all things sex-related that he wondered what good roaming around a store for seasoned adults would do. It wasn’t like he hadn’t thought about it before, but he had no clue what most of these gadgets and equipment were for in the first place. He wasn’t accustomed to watching porn, since he spent all of his adolescence in boarding school, and he didn’t need experience to know that it was all plastic and fabricated, anyway. God, if any of his classmates knew what he was up to…

 

He calmed down after half an hour or so and just kind of…stared at some brightly colored dildos and matching plugs when he heard Janey’s voice over his shoulder. “Still alive over here?”

 

“Yeah, I guess, but I really don’t know what I’m doing here.”

 

She gave him a sympathetic look and said, “I didn’t really expect you to, honestly. I mainly just wanted to open up the concept of _safe sex._ I’ll get you something if you want, and I promise I won’t ever speak a word about it.”

 

He snorted. “Like what?”

 

She put on the same impish grin that he’d seen since the day he came into this world and replied, “Oh, I dunno…something for Ned, maybe?”

 

Conor choked on nothing but his own mortification and his vision began to darken around the corners. “Wha- I don’t even, _we_ haven’t even- _oh my God._ ” He looked again at all the packaged toys and Ned’s face flashed through his mind. What did he know about any of this? Did he have one? Did he- Christ, he didn’t even want to think about it right now. Why hadn’t he thought about it before? Was this what having a stroke feels like?

 

Janey put a hand on his shoulder and gave him a firm shake, not even trying to stifle a laugh and embarrassing him further. “Jesus, Conor, chill out! I was only joking. My offer still stands, though.”

 

His vision cleared and he forced something like a laugh from his lungs. “Thanks, but I’m good.”

 

“Really? Not even some lube for the road?”

 

“I hate you so much.”

  


      _____________________________________________________________________________________________

  


Conor really didn’t have any expectations of what this trip would look like when he first got on the plane; he was so caught up in all of his family turmoil that he hadn’t thought of it as anything more than a break, an escape, a physical shift between his body and the struggles of home. If he had come up with a list of preconceptions of California, it likely wouldn’t have included getting to know Janey’s roommate in any way.

 

This girl, much like many others in his life, took him under her rebellious wing like they hadn’t just met less than a week ago.

 

So there they were, sitting out on the porch overlooking an admittedly less-than-quiet residential street, casually going back and forth like they’d known each other for months.

 

“Don’t you feel guilty enabling a bad habit in an impressionable teenager?” Conor quipped, taking the occasional hit from her joint.

 

Leilani furrowed her brows in suspicion. “What’s bad about this habit? You’ll be fine as long as you remember what it’s like to be sober. I’ve been smoking weed since I was fifteen; I’d feel like a hypocrite if I held out on you.”

 

“I just keep thinking about what my mum would say if she saw me.” He wouldn’t feel the least bit remorseful, however; it was far too late for regret after the number of drunken nights he’s had, but he still felt as lawless as his friends wished they were.

 

“I’m a firm believer in the philosophy that everyone on Earth should have a moment to just _chill_ , Conor. That’s why we call them vacations; letting the mind and body rest before going back into the real world.”

 

The real world. As the days passed by, all the responsibilities that awaited him across the ocean seemed to have less dire consequences. For the first time, the short weeks away from school felt like an actual _holiday,_ rather than a period of slow inactivity before another burst of stress.

 

“Sounds about right to me. Any tips on how to get some of this back to my boyfriend?”

 

She laughed into the mild breeze. “Now _that_ , my friend, would be enabling. So what’s it like to have the best sister in the world?” At the moment, Janey was at the co-op getting groceries for their next few meals.

 

“It’s pretty great, I know I’m lucky to have her. Are you an only child?”

 

“No, but it feels like I am. I’m the very last of the kids, so I was never close to my siblings.”

 

“Does your family know you’re gay?” Maybe one day, there’d come a time when being queer didn’t have anything to do with one’s family.

 

“Yeah, but I never really tried to hide in the first place, so I guess I didn’t have to come out like most people.”

 

“That sounds nice.” He sighed, hoping he didn’t sound too bitter. “I wish I lived in a place like this, where people can celebrate it instead of shame it.”

 

She leaned back in her chair, looking wistfully out at the buildings across the street. “Yeah, but…it has its downsides too. You can’t imagine how many dudes harass me and Josie whenever we go out. It’s not all the time, but we can hardly hold hands without some old guy asking us to kiss or if we wanna have a threesome; it’s disgusting.”

 

Conor was taken aback by this. He hated having to hide his feelings for Ned, but what would it feel like to have his relationship on the spotlight like that, their privacy on full display?

 

She must’ve read the thoughts on his face because she continued, “Yeah man, it’s the kinda shit no one talks about. Guys like that think that we’re only together for their benefit. And honestly, it even sucks walking around alone cause I don’t ‘look gay,’ and it’s too exhausting and dangerous to tell every dude who hits on me that I have a girlfriend, and even if I didn’t…” She trailed off, but her voice was steady. “It’s a whole different kind of homophobia, but at least we’re not getting beaten up over it.”

 

He didn’t know what to say. Why was one side of the harassment scale a constant fear of violence, and the other an invasion of boundaries? At the end of the day, why couldn’t everyone just mind their own business?

 

“But hey, that’s not gonna stop us from living our best lives, right? We got a right to love and exist without anyone’s permission. We’re here and we’re queer, Conor, so keep that in mind when you go back to the real world.”

 

If there was anything he predicted to learn on this trip, it wasn’t new knowledge of the human experience. Expectations are bullshit, anyway.

  


11:15 am

Victor: What’s Ned’s address?

 

Me: Why???

 

Victor: It’s important!!

 

Me: For what man

 

Victor: If I tell you, you’ll tell him

 

Me: Only if it’s something stupid

 

Victor: What, you don’t trust me??

 

Me: I mean I do, but I’m not giving it to you unless you tell me

 

Victor: Ugh fine, my mums and I are gonna surprise him on New Year’s

 

Victor: I’m positive he will be, but do you think he’ll be okay with it?

 

Me: Yeah, I think he’d really appreciate it

 

Me: I won’t tell him, you’re a good guy V

 

Victor: I try :’)

  


1:21 am

Wally: zombie apocalypse plan GO

 

Me: uhhhhh

 

Me: I gotta start putting my phone on silent at night

 

Wally: sorry mate i keep forgetting that youre in a different time zone but i gotta know

 

Wally: dont tell me you havent thought abt it

 

Me: Who hasn’t?

 

Me: Depends, is it at school or just anywhere

 

Wally: anywhere, schools too easy

 

Me: Are you guys on my team

 

Wally: duh!

 

Me: Okay so you, me, and Victor grab a couple of vans I guess, and the first stop is a police station for weapons

 

Me: And once me and V grab a few we head over to get food/water and stuff while you stock up cause I reckon you can handle yourself

 

Wally: thanks!!

 

Me: And Darcy’s gotta find an hq before we regroup and get to the mountains or something, cause obviously fuck a city apocalypse

 

Wally: wheres ned in this?

 

Me: Safely tucked away

 

Wally: what why do they get to hole up?

 

Me: Smart guys stay behind, man

 

Wally: eh i cant argue with that

 

Me: What’s your plan?

 

Wally: well yours is way better but i just figured id go apeshit with the machete

 

Me: Solid plan

  


      _____________________________________________________________________________________________

  


New Year’s Eve showed up out of nowhere, and it was unbelievable how fast the days drifted by with Janey and Leilani. All of a sudden, he was counting down the hours before he’d be back on the plane, and if he spent any more time in California, he might’ve forgotten that he had to go home to Ireland at all. That is, if each passing day wasn’t one step closer to seeing Ned in person again.

 

Even though he might never recover from the internal fiasco that was the ‘adult store,’ he still had enough faith in the girls to follow them out of the front door that night without question. Surely it had to be something earth-shattering if it was the final phase of their ‘Open Up Conor to the World Plan,’ and all he hoped for was something to remember for the rest of term.

 

Whereas the past week he’d seen a quiet, post-Christmas chill in the hills of San Francisco, New Year’s Eve in the streets was positively _lit._ This wasn’t a complete shock to him, seeing as it was the one thing most of the world celebrated all together, and therefore rejoiced in pretty much the same way. Everyone was still wasted, and maybe it was all in his head, but the residents of the city sounded drunk in a more…American way.

 

They walked along the sidewalk, sidestepping rampant party-goers as Janey and Leilani strode arm in arm, conversing about Lei’s girlfriend.

 

“She hates the Midwest, and I keep telling her, ‘Josie, you’re twenty-five, you don’t have to spend the whole two weeks there if you don’t want to.’ But she says hanging out with her dog is worth it.”

 

“How long you been together?” Conor asked.

 

“Two years.” She said it like it wasn’t the major milestone Conor thought it was. She must’ve sensed this thought slipping through his head. “You got a lot to learn, honorary little brother.”

 

Janey gave her a look from above that said, ‘what now?’

 

Lei rolled her eyes. “What? I never got a little brother, and it’s so endearing.”

 

They stopped short a few paces away from what looked to be a bar, with a bouncer shepherding a long line out front. Conor eyed the establishment, and then the girls, suspiciously. “You both know I don’t have ID here, right?” He spotted a neon pink triangle in one of the windows and his heart fluttered. “I’ve been to a gay bar before, what’s so special about this one?”

 

Janey wiped an invisible tear from her cheek with an air of drama. “You’re growing up so fast, young grasshopper. And I thought about getting you a fake, but there’s no way it would’ve made it here in time. But luckily, Lei knows one of the bouncers.”

 

She stood proudly, but gave him a stern glance all the same. “Yeah, it shouldn’t be any trouble as long as you don’t drink, _okay?_ ”

 

Conor shrugged, feeling no desire for alcohol whatsoever. “Fine with me.”

 

He moved forward, but stilled when Janey put slapped a hand on his back. “And I’ll be properly _astonished_ if you’ve ever seen live drag before.”

 

“What?”

 

He wasn’t graced with an answer though, as the girls pushed past the bouncer who gave Conor a deadpan look and leaned over to mutter, “You owe me one, Lei.”

 

The bar, (club?) didn’t vary much from the one Conor visited in town once before; it had similar glowing lights, the same dark and mysterious atmosphere accompanied with heavy music, and the only difference was that the patrons were dressed much more…fluidly. Incredibly short shorts, painted lips, and six inch heels greeted him everywhere he turned, and he suddenly felt very underdressed.

 

Fifteen minutes and a drink for both of the girls later, they were sitting in front of the stage, in the, as Janey put it, “Best seats in the house.” Conor didn’t know what was on the way as he half listened to the conversations spinning around him, watching slow pink lights glimmer along the stage. The only drag he’d ever heard of was drag racing, but, like most things in the gay community, he figured this was something he’d have to see to understand.

 

Soon enough, every light in the bar dimmed, and the crowd went wild. A tall woman with the longest blonde hair he’d ever seen sauntered up on stage in dangerously high heels and black fishnets, and the audience couldn’t agree more.

 

“Hello, dolls.” She began in a deep sultry voice, “It’s wonderful to see you again, and I hope you had a merry Christmas, because we are _done_ with that shit! It is out with the old and in. With. The. New.” With every word she rolled her hips, and Conor felt the excitement of the crowd getting to him.

 

Leilani leaned over to him and whispered, “This, Conor, is a drag queen.”

 

“I hope you’re all as pumped as I am for the show, because tonight we have something very special for you. A double feature, burlesque and your favorite queens for your viewing _pleasure_.” She ran her long nails down her thigh at the word. “Let’s dance into a new era of disaster and remember that, through it all, we’re still together.” The audience was nearly screaming now, and Conor didn’t have to guess what disaster she was referencing. The shock of 2016 hadn’t missed him.

 

“Without further ado, let’s get this party started! Happy New Year’s, bitches.”

 

A young man wordlessly stepped onto the stage, and as soon as the first beat in the song dropped, so did he.

 

_You said keep our business on the low, low. I’m just try’na get you out the friend-zone._

 

He moved effortlessly, as though his body was made of water; arms, legs, fingers and toes, he danced all at once. Conor, in a single word, was entranced. The dancer took off his clothes so slowly, so…meticulously, that it was almost like stripping, (not that he’d ever seen that before, either,) but this was more than that. Ned would say that it was art.

 

_I only call you when it’s half past five, the only time I’d ever call you mine._

 

He wanted to be embarrassed, especially since the man on stage looked way too much like Victor for his comfort, but Conor couldn’t bring himself to be anything more than hypnotized. It was like the music was moving his body for him, and the whole experience felt sensual, intimate, as though he was dancing all by himself.

 

_The hills have eyes, the hills have eyes. Who are you to judge?_

 

He made brief eye contact with Conor, and he couldn’t tear his gaze away.

 

The performance was over in what felt like sixty seconds, and he was simply stunned. The hostess for the night came up once more, but he knew that he wouldn’t remember a word she said; he was still dizzy from his world turning upside down.

 

The next performer was another drag queen, and she brought a whole new tone to the stage. Whereas the last dancer was graceful and undeniably seductive, this queen made everyone within a ten mile radius want to _move._ She moved fast, bouncing essentially from floor to ceiling, and even Conor found himself getting in the groove, a smile glued to his face.

 

“Hey, Miss Carter!” The bar shouted in unison.

 

This woman was like, _made of bass_. It thrummed in his ears and shook his bones, and she looked like she was having the time of her life, seamlessly mouthing the words. Conor never thought he would ever see someone so heavily made up, (as Lei would later explain to him, she was “beat for the gods.”)

 

_Take all of me, I just wanna be the girl you like._

 

Conor was utterly lost in the best possible way. With each song and routine, he forgot all about his pride, about what his parents or classmates would think; there was only this beat, this positive _energy._ Everyone in the club, the three of them included, were completely enthralled. He forgot every one of his opinions on pop music and what was considered ‘appropriate attire.’ As the girls and future experience would later tell him, every person in these bars and shows were there to be themselves, and who was he to close himself off?

  


They ended up leaving the bar around two hours into the brand new year, and though Conor had a flight to catch frighteningly soon, he was drunk on nothing but an overwhelming sense of community.

 

“Thoughts, little brother?” Janey asked, slightly tipsy on their way home.

 

“Consider my mind expanded.”

  


2:48 am

Me: I’m…

 

Me: Changed

  


      _____________________________________________________________________________________________

  


Conor’s flight was due to leave later on Sunday morning, and he was certain that his sleep schedule was going to be positively fucked for the next few days. Sleep deprived and delirious, Leilani bid him a heartwarming farewell on his way out, and he’d be lying if he said she hadn’t earned a very special place in his heart in the week and a half since they met.

 

“If you ever wanna escape from the trenches of heteronormativity, you always have a spot with us, young one.”

 

He and Janey took a hazy cab to the airport, and the notion that he’d be going back to his regularly scheduled livelihood of classes, rugby, and homework didn’t even feel real. How was he supposed to a life of normalcy after the life changing experiences he’s had?

 

They had some time to spare before Conor had to check in, and Janey sat him down on a bench outside since she couldn’t properly see him off. “So what do you think of this fraction of the outside world?”

 

It was breathtaking, to say the least. “It’s been a whirlwind for sure, but I couldn’t be happier.”

 

She looked up at the sky above and Conor followed her gaze, knowing that it’d be the last time he saw the sun for the next few months, at least. “I know mum always thought I was just tryin’ to get a rise out of her growing up, but really, I knew that everything wasn’t as prim and proper as she wanted me to think. I rarely get to see you anymore, and after what you’ve told me, I just _had_ to show you that life is so much bigger than what’s in the walls of boarding school. Folks in conservative areas like that are so…closed off, and I couldn’t have you thinking that the rest of the world thinks like they do, especially as it becomes more accepting. It’s so easy for kids like you to be disenchanted when life can be so full and amazing, know what I mean?”

 

Conor took a moment to think about all of the things he’d have to get used to again in school: Pascal, the brick wall that was the pressure to be the very best, Weasel, and all the ways he could be so unpredictable, and not to mention the casual bullying in day to day life. There was no question that he still couldn’t be as open as he wanted, but now he had a spark of hope to hold on to until he graduated. He learned that a large part of the world wasn’t in hiding, and felt beyond a shadow of a doubt that, one day, there would come a time that he won’t have to hide, either.

 

“But more than anything, Conor,” She continued, looking him in the eyes, “I want you to be _safe._ I’d give anything for everyone on earth to see how amazing you are, but there’s no denying that shit can hit the fan if you’re not careful. I wish there weren’t such hard truths to face, but I won’t be able to stand it if you or Ned get hurt. Stay together, have fun, and keep your friends close, above all. You _deserve_ to be happy and safe, okay?”

 

These feelings bubbling inside of him, the overwhelming love he had for his sister, the excitement and anxiety of seeing his friends and being locked away in school again threatened to spill over. Before he could do anything about it, he hugged Janey tightly as warm tears trailed down his cheeks. God, he’d miss her and this wonderful place so much.

 

She held him just as fiercely and whispered with a warm kindness, “You’ve always been such a cry baby, Conor. I love you to the moon and back.”

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Drops mic*
> 
>  
> 
> Also, super important! I LOVE getting comments from my readers because you give me the energy I need to keep this going as often as I do. But in addition, I've changed my tumblr around a little bit, so please hit me up over @Blapblaps cause that's where I hang out! It can get so lonely getting lost in the sauce of this story that it would make me so happy if anyone wanted to come over and say hi.  
> Tell me about your thoughts on the fic, headcannons, ideas, suggestions, or anything you can think of! I'll also be posting some questions for you guys whenever I need your opinions on things you'd like to see. 
> 
> This fandom is minuscule so there's nothing Handsome Devil related on my blog, but I'd love to start a conversation.
> 
> As always, thanks so much for sticking it out with me <3
> 
> (P.S If anyone could tell me how to add an actual page break in these, that would be fabulous.)


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wesley goes through some shit, we all know how that goes :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is what was supposed to be an extension of chapter 21, but I couldn't bring myself to put the two together. So go back and read the rest of Conor's chapter if you haven't already!

 

 

 As slowly as the days had been dragging on and the closer he got to leaving for the holiday, Wesley dreaded having to go home more and more. As soon as it became official in his mind that there was nothing he could do but get on a train and face whatever state his home was in, the faster it crept up on him. Since Victor tried to set him straight, every waking moment felt the same. Morning practice, breakfast, classes, lunch, afternoon practice and dinner, it all swept by in a haze of nothingness. He didn’t care about his studies, midterms, what his friends were up to, or even the team. Instead of anger he just felt numb, hopeless, and like nothing mattered.

 

The only thought he had about returning home was this idea of walking into purgatory, where everything would perhaps feel even more like the same. Yet it wasn’t the same; everything he thought he could go back to had changed. For the last two weeks he’d been lost in thought, emptied of all his anger, but maybe that was for the best. It was the first time in his life that he actually felt _sad_ about something, sad that there wasn’t anything he could do to help his mum and brother move on from his father’s death.

 

So walked into his childhood home, heart heavy with what he’d see. And upon entering the front door, all he found was…silence. It was devoid of all sound and from what he could immediately see, covered in dust. It felt empty, and the only evidence of three people living there were the coats hanging by the door.

 

Setting down his bag, all intention of unpacking forgotten, he made his way down the hall to Jamie’s room. He knocked once, but, being the big brother that he is, opened the door without waiting more than three seconds for a response. The first thing he saw was Jamie on his bed, headphones over his ears behind his laptop.

 

Jamie looked up, and his eyes sparkled just a bit at the sight of his brother. “Hey man, I almost forgot what you look like.” He smiled, but Wesley instantly saw that it was subdued.

 

He sat down on his bed, forgoing the need for an invitation. Whereas Wesley looked more like their mother, thirteen year old Jamie was nearly the spitting image of William. “Nah, you can’t forget about me that quick. How you holdin’ up?” He never had any patience for small talk, depression be damned.

 

Jamie shrugged. “I dunno, I don’t spend much time here anymore. I joined a couple clubs at school so I don’t have to hang out all the time.”

 

That was good news, at least. James was always good at keeping busy; the need to move was in their blood. “Any signs of life from…?” He jerked his head towards the general direction of their mother’s room. He didn’t want to make it sound like a joke, but he couldn’t come up with another way to bring the question forward.

 

Jamie’s features darkened, and Wesley almost regretted asking. “Not really. And I heard some…well, whatever. I just keep my headphones on whenever I’m around.”

 

Wesley didn’t want to know, and he would’ve been pissed had Hell not frozen over. “Any ideas on this Christmas bullshit?”

 

James leaned against the wall and looked at the headphones in his lap. “It doesn’t really matter when I feel like I’m living in an empty house.”

 

In a desperate attempt of brotherly normalcy, Wesley reached over and snatched the headphones out of his hands, earning himself a glare. “You’re gonna be goin’ to Woodhill next year, you should be stoked.”

 

Jamie smirked. “Yeah, and then they’ll see how much cooler I am than you.”

 

It was in that moment that Wesley decided if there was something, _anything,_ he could do to make his little brother’s life better, he would find a way. Even if that meant acting like everything was going to be okay for them when he himself didn’t believe it.

  


They spent almost every day in the next two weeks going out, even if they couldn’t think of somewhere to go. He burst into Jamie’s room every morning, (not without its moments of, “Oh my God, _Wes!_ ”) and demanded that he get dressed, eat some breakfast, and be on their merry way out of the house. They walked around their hometown, talking about their own shit; upcoming games, new rugby plays, what video games Jamie was playing and which girls he was crushing on. (“There’s this girl Allison in the theater club, and I’m gonna get the part of Romeo just so I can kiss her.” “Theater? You know that shit’s for sissies, right?” “Shut up, you just know you’re not good enough to do anything else!”)

 

On Christmas Eve, Wesley stole their uncle’s wallet from his coat pocket, and he and Jamie bolted out the door. It was liberating, buying the most expensive gifts for each other just because they could, and Wesley could die tomorrow with no regrets.

 

“As soon as I go to University in autumn, we can spend the next Christmases, New Year’s, birthdays and whatever else at my new place.” He never planned on going far. “And I swear, the minute I’m eighteen and get my inheritance, I’m kicking Robert right the fuck out of that house. We’ll never have to see his face again.” And then maybe Genevieve could come out of hiding and get her health back in order.

 

“Yeah, man.” Jamie said with his brother’s arm around his shoulders. “That sounds good.”

  


Wesley didn’t see Robert or his mother during those two weeks, but maybe if he could convince Jamie, he could convince himself, too. One day, he was going to get his family’s lives in shape, or he’d die trying. 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's short, but I had a promise to keep and wrote this in like, an hour...and I'm so weak.
> 
>  
> 
> *Whispers* Say hi to me over on my tumblr, @Blapblaps


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys are back in school, with less inhibitions and more presents.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, you read that right; I've changed the rating to E and these are the decisions I've made. Things get...spicy, so there's your warning. 
> 
> Also, it occurred to me in the dead of night that there's no way they'd be playing rugby in the winter. Sports have off seasons, right? Just goes to show how much I know about any of that; I definitely didn't play any sports in high school. So let's just pretend that they were practicing for "fun" in the earlier chapters and move on. Leaves more time for extra group shenanigans, right?

 

 

_As much I’ll miss the heavenly quiet of my house, the softest bed in the world, hours of mindless group chats, and the newfound peace I’ve made with my sole ownership of the house, there’s no use denying it. I’m so excited to be back at school. Don’t get me wrong, I couldn’t be less enthusiastic about the monotony of classes and the looming threat of bullying again, but at this point, I’d put up with just about anything to wake up with Conor again. After months of getting to know him in person, no amount of texts or calls could make up for seeing him smile at me every day._

_And yeah, I’m also thrilled to hang out with the Puppy Parade again. I’m grateful for the honest conversations I’ve had with Darcy, knowing that if any of our classmates heard us talking it could be disastrous, but I don’t know; there’s something so much more…authentic about face to face interactions that simply can’t be beat. We’ll just have to find a way to keep our flow of controversial topics on the rise as the days in school pass us by._

 

_I asked Conor when he’d be back on campus, and all he said was, “LATE late,” and asked me to keep the door unlocked for him._

  


                      ______________________________________________________________________________

  


A door handle turning. A footstep in the doorway, the lock sliding into place. The soft thud of two bags being placed on the floor, and the untying of shoelaces. 

 

Vague, muffled sounds in the stillness of their bedroom, and a dip in the space next to him.

 

Hands, warm and strong and steady, wrapping themselves around him and a gentle sigh into the back of his neck.

 

Ned’s sleep-ridden mind was delayed, but his body acted without hesitation, turning over to burrow in Conor’s everlasting warmth.

 

“What time is it?”

 

Some kind of verbal confirmation that Conor didn’t know and cared even less.

 

“I’ve missed you.”

 

“I missed you, too.”

 

Darkness and the sweetest dream.

  


                     ______________________________________________________________________________

  


Ned woke up first; blinking into the dim morning light and knowing with absolute certainty that not even the softest, most luxurious mattress in the world was a match for waking up in Conor’s arms. Hopefully one day he’d be lucky enough to have both, however. Maybe when that day came, he’d finish his three-part novella describing all the ways in which the both of them were cosmically destined to share a bed. 

 

He looked up just to make sure that this wasn’t all a dream.

 

And there he was, sleeping so soundly, lips parted and hair everywhere, and Ned thought he’d hardly ever seen a more beautiful person. He knew he should’ve let Conor sleep in peace, but all the willpower he’d ever had was just a distant memory now, and he couldn’t help but lift himself up and leave a trail of gentle kisses along his skin, from his collarbone all the way up his neck and across his jaw.  

 

Conor groaned and moved his head up the smallest amount, and Ned would’ve thought he was dead asleep if he had missed Conor’s mouth turning up slightly at the corners. Ned slipped his hand underneath Conor’s shirt and up his stomach to let himself _just_ _have this for a minute._  

 

“Good morning.” He muttered against Conor’s neck.

 

Conor raised a hand, cascading it through the back of Ned’s hair and placed a sleepy kiss on his forehead. He breathed in deeply, lifting Ned a couple inches and gave a noncommittal grumble in response. 

 

“Good trip back?” 

 

“Hmm…no.” 

 

Ned knew that Conor was clearly still wading through the waters of sleep deprivation, but he just _loved_ the way Conor’s voice sounded in the morning. Low and rumbling in a way that made his breath catch, day after day. His conscience, now a vague idea that was distantly floating away into space, told him to let his boyfriend sleep for as long as he could, but every other cell in his body pushed him up to leave a path of soft kisses onto his skin. He waited two whole weeks to be able to do this again, and not even the building burning down around them could get him to stop. The room was freezing and Conor’s body felt like a wood burning stove, and just for a little while, Ned got him all to himself. He captured Conor’s lips with his own, and Conor grinned and kissed back as much as his dulled senses would allow. Ned took this opportunity to fully lay himself on top of the larger of the two, forgoing the concept of the mattress altogether, but the brunette simply enveloped him up in a full body hug and flipped them over. Ned, with all of his burning desire and days of pent up energy, had now been reduced to a body pillow. Every inch of him was pressed against two hundred pounds of a Conor Masters that was hell-bent on sleeping, and who was he to complain?

 

They stayed like that for a serene amount of time before Ned felt it his responsibility to glance at the clock. “Breakfast is over soon, want me to bring you something?”

 

Conor held him even tighter and whined, “Nooooo.”

 

Ned couldn’t help but smirk at his clinginess. “No? You’re not hungry?”

 

“I am, but I’m sleeping for at least twelve more hours.”

 

“I really don’t think that’s gonna help your jetlag. Besides, you can’t escape the puppies for that long.”

 

Conor’s fingers trailed over the dip in Ned’s waist, making him shiver slightly. “Fuck my jetlag. Is there class today?”

 

“No, but there’s an assembly at noon.” Thankfully, the academic powers that be were kind enough to give the students an extra day to get back after the holidays, and classes would continue the next day.

 

“You’re gonna skip it, right?” So presumptuous. 

 

“I would, but I think it’d be suspicious if neither of us showed up. Someone’s gotta make the sacrifice.”

 

Conor must’ve deemed this an acceptable response, because he fell silent for another few minutes.

 

He seemed to open his eyes for the first time, and he casually observed, “Your hair’s brown.”

 

Ned laughed into his chest. He gave up on the blonde right before getting on the train, deciding instead to go for something more manageable. “Yeah, it is. You like it?”

 

Conor gave him a grunt of positive affirmation. “It’s cool.” And the room filled with a comfortable quiet.

 

“Like what I did with the room?”

 

“Mhm.”

 

“You didn’t even look!” 

 

Conor pulled him in closer, even though it must’ve been a few extra millimeters at most, and Ned felt his face heat up upon the increased contact of his stomach against Conor’s morning wood. Mornings were going to be so much more complicated with all of _that_ in the mix. “I’ll look later.” He mumbled. 

 

So Ned allowed himself to succumb to the warm coziness of Conor and his bed for another half hour or so, until the grumbling in his stomach just couldn’t be ignored any longer. He peeled himself from a very reluctant boyfriend and leaned in once more, “I’m gonna go get some food with the boys and then go to the assembly, but I’m dragging you out of here for lunch, okay?”

 

Conor flipped over onto his stomach, not even considering moving over to his own bed. “You’re so cruel, Eddie.”

 

Ned scoffed at his ridiculous lump of a partner. “Oh I know, I’m just the _worst._ ”

  


                     ______________________________________________________________________________

  


Conor resurfaced back into consciousness around 12:15 later in the day with his mind swimming and his body screaming at him in just about every way. How was he supposed to be a functional human being, let alone force himself out into the world when he was so sluggish? He sensed that Ned would be around soon to pull him back into society by his ankles, so he rolled out of bed, stretched until his bones popped, and left to take a shower. The hot water helped to clear his mind of most of its remaining fog and ease his muscles, and by the time he stepped back into the room, Ned was already waiting for him. 

 

Ned smiled back at him, looking like he stopped by to visit from heaven wearing a pair of jeans and Conor’s hoodie. Conor pulled the second towel from over his head and tore his eyes away from the little angel to glance around the room. Indeed, Ned’s influence was visible; the curtains had been replaced with light grey ones with small black triangles, probably to compliment the bright red rug under his feet or something, and a large print of one of those pour over paintings had been hung over his own bed. A few feet away from it was another print that was true to Conor’s first impression of Ned; a single line drawing of a naked man turned to the side, taking his shirt off.

 

Conor nodded. “Looks good, like people actually live here now. How’d you get everything on the train and up here?”

 

Ned walked over to him to put his hands on his waist, and Conor was reminded that he was only wearing a towel around his hips. “Don’t ask.” He placed a kiss on the spot just below his neck, still damp from the shower, and Conor pushed the door fully shut behind him with one foot, guessing that he would soon lose the mental capacity to do it later. Ned was suddenly all hands, gracing his skin with those electric fingertips that he missed so much, gliding them up his biceps, along his chest, dancing on top of his collarbones and around his neck.

 

Conor pretty much melted on the spot.

 

With his chin resting on Conor’s chest, Ned looked up at him with his blue eyes, half lidded and pupils blown wide. The hoodie was a couple sizes too big for him, and he realized that Ned wasn’t wearing a shirt underneath and somehow even that was making his brain fizzle out _._ Ned bit his bottom lip and _fuck,_ was he trying to kill him? So Conor did what anyone with at least three brain cells would do and pulled him in by the waist, not wasting a second before lifting up the back of his hoodie and kissing him with as much confidence as he could muster. Ned must’ve have some kind of shit planned out, because he took Conor’s lip between his teeth and bit down hard enough to send him into space. He let out a completely unintentional moan and Ned took the opportunity to slip his tongue in his mouth, and Conor’s hands reflexively fit around his ribs like he was already so used to it. In an instant the world melted away with no need for trivial things like clothes, doors, or oxygen; there was only Ned and his mouth and hands and his fucking _tongue_ that was making him feel like he could collapse at any moment. 

 

Ned’s thumbs found their way an inch underneath the towel and Conor’s breath hitched. “ _Fuck,_ what’s gotten into you?” Though he’d probably blow a circuit if he even thought about stopping.

 

Ned gave Conor’s lips an experimental lick and he felt the smirk on his face. “I just missed you, is all.” He said it casually, but his voice was low and as breathless as Conor felt.

 

Conor tugged on the front of his belt, his new and obvious hard-on only pushing him further and moved his mouth down Ned’s neck. He was on a mission to make his boyfriend squirm as much as he could whilst standing in the middle of their room, and nibbled gently on his skin, earning him a deep, rumbling moan of his own. 

 

“Give me a hickey on my neck and I’ll fucking kill you.”

 

Conor chuckled and lifted his head slightly, gliding his tongue along the shell of his ear. “Where should I give you one, then?” He murmured, and he had to get a vice-like grip on Ned’s waist with the way his stance wavered. Ned blessed him with a real moan then, and it sounded like music to his ears. Mission accomplished. 

 

“ _Jesus Christ,_ anywhere else, please.” He begged.

 

Conor took the initiative to push Ned against his desk, absolutely lost in the bliss of finally, _finally_ getting his boyfriend exactly where he wanted him after two grueling weeks without his touch. They wrapped around each other like snakes (or, more accurately, like two horny teenagers,) and Conor let himself swim in his new reality that was only _Ned._ Ned, and the way he felt, the way he smelled, how he tasted, the way their mouths and hands moved so effortlessly together. One of Ned’s hands ghosted over the fabric of his towel that was way too tight on his crotch and Conor was ready to completely give in right then and there- 

 

And then Conor’s stomach growled like there was a fucking earthquake. 

 

Ned burst into a laugh that totally obliterated the silence and Conor wanted to disintegrate into a million, desperate little pieces. Ned’s lips were wonderfully pink and he almost didn’t register the words coming from them. “Maybe we should get you something to eat, huh?”

 

“Seriously, I just wanna eat you.” He didn’t have a clue where that came from, but he was too mortified to think about it.

 

Ned hummed and gave him one last earth-shattering kiss. “Maybe later.”

 

Conor buried his face in the crook of his neck, knowing full well that he was blushing monstrously. Still, he just couldn’t get enough. “Maybe?”

 

“For sure later; wouldn’t want you passing out on me.”

 

Conor was about to faint for a hundred and one other reasons, but he knew that his moment had ended until further notice. He sighed in defeat. “Suppose I should put on some clothes, then.”

 

“I mean, I certainly wouldn’t mind if you didn’t, but I think the cooks would have something to say about it.” 

 

So they reluctantly detached, Conor resentfully feeling like a law should be written about that sort of thing, and he ran a hand over his face in an attempt to force his soul to return to this earthly realm. He pulled a shirt and a pair of jeans out from his duffel, and when he turned back around, he found Ned on his bed, gazing at him expectantly. 

 

Conor raised an eyebrow and Ned raised his own right back, and he suddenly got the message. It felt like a challenge, and with a burst of uncharacteristic courage, Conor stepped in front of him, (still frustratingly hard,) looked him dead in the eye, removed his towel, and got dressed.

 

Ned watched him the whole time.

  


                     ______________________________________________________________________________

  


_What HAS gotten into me? It’s not fair, it’s not moral, it’s absolutely fucking disgraceful how Conor Masters can make me so weak in the knees. I’m almost furious about how gorgeous he looked stepping into our room like he was something that materialized straight out of my fantasies; water dripping down his shoulders in nothing but a towel to highlight everything I could dare to dream of. I must’ve been possessed or something, because I didn’t have a chance to feel even slightly embarrassed or inadequate; I just wanted /him,/ and everything we could possibly give each other._

 

_I’m not going to go into detail about him taking off that godforsaken towel like he knew exactly how to give me a heart attack, but if I needed anything to reaffirm my sexuality, that was more than enough._

_Since it feels like I’ve had to wait forever to even kiss him again, I’ll let myself have today. But for the sake of my fragile sanity, I’ll really have to get all of this under control._

  


                     ______________________________________________________________________________

  


A little later, once Ned and the subject of his desires had cleared their minds and gotten _settled_ , they made the journey down to the dining hall to find a small band of puppies waiting at their table. Conor looked slightly less ready to keel over, and greeted their friends with a small nod and a fond smile.

 

“Conor!” Wally and Victor cheered like they hadn’t seen him in five years. 

 

“Your wife set aside some coffee from breakfast for ya.” 

 

“Fuck off, Wally.” Ned rolled his eyes as they sat down together.

 

Conor raised his eyebrows and pointed at the tiny keyboard in front of Wallace. “Is that what I think it is?”

 

Darcy groaned. “I really wish you hadn’t asked.”

 

Wally’s eyes sparkled with excitement. “Do you think it’s the best Christmas present anyone’s ever gotten? Because it is!” He very forcefully pressed one of the orange buttons on the side, eliciting a sharp _ZEET_ from it, and making Ned jump a fraction. “My cousin stopped by on Saturday and gave it to me, it’s the 1991 Casio Rapman and she’s my second love.”

 

“I’m not gonna ask what your first love is.” Darcy said, resting his chin on one of his hands and side-eyeing the tiny keys.

 

“I don’t know how I feel about people calling inanimate objects 'she.' It’s weird when sailors do it, and it’s weird when you do it.” Ned added.

 

Victor snorted. “As far as synthesizers go, it’s not that impressive.”

 

This earned a glare from Wally, who pressed an angry key in response, effectively getting some curious glances from the boys at the next table.

 

“Why on Earth would you bring that thing out here? I thought you at least cared about me enough to leave it in the room.” Darcy complained, though Ned didn’t miss the little grin that swept over his face.

 

Wally experimentally pressed a few buttons and flitted his fingers across the keys to produce a few obnoxious beeps. “I do love you, but I love her more. And I’m open to negotiation; I’ll only bring the Rapman to meals when you bring your homework.”

 

“How is that fair at all?”

 

Ned cut between them, looking at the offending object. It must have had thirty keys, tops, and every note sounded tinny and artificial. “It’s basically a toy, mate.”

 

Wally looked like he’d just been slapped across the face. “What do _you_ know? You can’t even play guitar!”

 

Conor laughed and Ned elbowed him in the ribs. “That’s cold, Wallace.”

 

Victor swallowed a mouthful of food and chimed in, “You and Conor should put on a show sometime and blow up the room upstairs.” 

 

Ned thought that was an appalling idea, but Conor smirked asked, “Who’s gonna sing?” 

 

Victor shrugged like it was obvious. “Darcy.”

 

“And why the hell would I do that?”

 

“Wally’s told me about your midnight karaoke in the showers.” The blond replied with a wiggle of his eyebrows.

 

“And it’s _only_ ever Lana and Rhianna for some reason.” Wally said, accentuating Darcy’s exposure with a flick of his wrist on the keys.

 

Darcy looked affronted. “Rude, but if you don’t wanna belt out Love on the Brain, there’s something wrong with you, and I stand by that. What happens in the showers stays in the showers.”

 

Victor released an all-knowing laugh and waved his fork around. “Ain’t that the truth.”

 

Ned couldn’t help the look of perplexity he sent his way, and Victor only winked back at him. With Wally’s semi-musical ambience as background noise, Conor asked casually, “So how was the assembly?”

 

“Boring.” Was all Ned had to say about it. Another semester, another half hour standing in a crowd of fidgeting teenagers listening to announcements he couldn’t care less about.

 

“Pascal ended up taking over the mic and carried on about rugby for most of it.” Wally said.

 

Ned caught the look of mirth that flashed in Darcy’s eyes as he perked up and said, “Yeah, I’m pretty sure he’s already going through withdrawals; I could see him sweating from where we were standing. I feel so sorry for the poor sap that has to remind him that the season doesn’t start back up until March.”

 

Victor almost choked on his water in a rush to add with exasperation, “And he hunted me down afterwards to ask me if you’d come back to school yet, Conor. He looked like he was ready to cry when you weren’t there, and I almost wanted to tell him that you moved to Iceland or something. I’m just as excited to play again as anyone else, but that man needs a hobby or a girlfriend or _something!_ ”

 

Conor, having wolfed down his first meal of the day, said with his head resting on his forearms, “I got back at like, four in the morning; it’s a miracle that I’m sitting here at all.”

 

Darcy was changing the settings on Wally’s keyboard to interrupt his ‘flow’ and said in a low, conniving tone, “Maybe it’s time we pull another prank on him to get him back into the swing of things.”

 

Victor gave him a surprised, albeit impressed look and said, “I’m all for it, and your willingness to fuck with the coach on our behalf is heartwarming, Darce. The team’s got enough time on its hands to come up with something pretty diabolical now, anyways.” 

  


Once they’d all finished lunch, Conor looked as though he was ready to go back to sleep, and Ned relied on the group’s combined pressure to prevent him from retreating back to their dorm. Darcy’s ears needed a rest from the synthetic sounds of the Rapman, so he volunteered Victor to challenge Wally to a timed sprint around the field to test who’d kept up their training regimen throughout the holiday (even though there wasn’t a chance that two weeks of R&R could come close to undoing months of daily training.) Throughout most of the day, Ned was pleasantly surprised at how he didn’t have to try to acclimate to being surrounded by his energetic friends after his extended solitude. The boys picked up right where they left off, however closer after days spent pestering each other over the phone. He’d miss the group chat eventually, but nothing could beat seeing them laugh at each other’s jokes in real time.

  


                      ______________________________________________________________________________

  


_Something’s definitely shifted, whether it be the planets moving, climate change, or just my own personal perspective. Either way, sitting in the bleachers watching Wally and Victor (and Conor, who at this point started to wake up a little more) chase each other around was more fun than I would’ve previously thought. I still don’t care about athleticism as a general concept, but I might even miss seeing fourteen boys tear ass through the field. Not that I’ll ever mention it to anyone but Darcy. The bleachers and the rugby field have been deserted until further notice, so we took the privacy and my subsequent lack of interest to question his preferences._

 

_“So twice a day in the locker room showers didn’t give you any clue to your sexuality?” I try not to pry too much, but there’s a tiny sliver of me that’s dying to admire the players with someone else like a couple of desperate school girls._

 

_“Don’t get me wrong, I was tempted. But stare too long at someone else’s ass and you run the risk of being exiled, so I mostly kept my eyes to myself.”_

 

_“Really? I’d imagine that most days are spent comparing sizes.” Not that I would know anything about that._

 

_He threw his head back and groaned. “Unfortunately, it happens more often than I’d like to remember. There was just one instance of sword fighting that I’d do literally anything to forget.”_

 

_Atrocious. “Gross; I really don’t wanna know! Please tell me you weren’t involved.”_

 

_I’ve never seen him look more insulted. “I really hope you have a higher opinion of me than that, Edwin. But I could give you the names and positions of everyone who was.”_

 

_I don’t know what I’d do with that kind of information. “Please spare me the details.” An idea struck me then. “If you tell me who you think the hottest players are, I might be able to tell you how gay you could be.”_

 

_He pushed me over at the precise moment Wally and Conor collided. “You’re completely biased! And I’m sure we have different tastes, anyway.”_

 

_“Humor me.” There was at least another hour before the sun went down, and I needed an excuse to stick around._

 

_He sighed with the utmost drama. “Fine, let me consider my options.” He looked thoughtfully out at the naked trees before nearly whispering, “Besides Victor, I can’t decide between Owens and the Walsh twins. I guess I could have a thing for burly dudes, and I happen to know that not /everything/ is identical.”_

 

_“So you HAVE looked! I knew even you couldn’t help it.”_

 

_He did that thing were he blushes and tries to look dignified about it. “Whatever, just don’t tell Victor that I think he’s the hottest.”_

 

_I looked over at Victor, who had jumped on Wally’s back for whatever reason, sending them toppling over into the frozen grass. What were they even trying to accomplish at this point? “I don’t think I need to; he knows he’s up on everyone’s list. What is it about him?” I already knew what I found attractive about the guy, but I was in the mood to do some psychoanalyzation on my best friend._

 

_He leaned back on the bench behind him, and I won’t tell a soul about the heat rising in his face. “I don’t know…as goofy as he is, he can look so serious and brooding sometimes. And I guess there’s something about his shoulders, his thighs, his nose and his…eyebrows and just his… face! That and he’s tall, but who really cares about that, honestly.” His eyes widened in apparent realization, and his look of defeat was palpable._

 

_“...I don’t think I’m straight.”_

 

_He has my sympathy. “Your secret’s safe with me.”_

 

_“What are you two talkin’ about over there?” The Adonis in question narrowed his eyes suspiciously at us; we must’ve activated his sixth sense._

 

_“About how stupid you all are!”_

  


                     ______________________________________________________________________________

  


“You only won out of technicality!”

 

“Yeah, I’m _technically_ faster than you, dumbass!”

 

“Darcy had the timer; I’m sure he fucked with it somehow.”

 

“How would I even do that?”

 

“I don’t know, but you’re totally against me.”

 

Back upstairs in the Puppy Parade Headquarters, which was thankfully warmer than anywhere else within a five mile radius, Wally and Victor were arguing over Wally’s defeat from their race. Ned thought it must’ve been pent up energy over the last two weeks, and he wondered how long their fighting spirit would persist without daily practices to wear them out. 

 

“I demand a rematch.”

 

“What for? I’ve been showing you up in training since day one, that not good enough for ya’?” 

 

Ned spoke up from his favorite spot against Conor’s side, a comforting arm around his shoulders. “If you race at eight o’clock at night in the dead of winter, I’m sure you’ll get hypothermia or something.”

 

“He’s got long legs man; nothin’ you can do about it.” Conor said.

 

Wally slid down the wall next to the window with his arms crossed, looking surly. Darcy gave him a sympathetic look from above and then pointed at the paper bag next to Ned to change the subject. “What’s that?”

 

Ned had been so amused by their bickering that he almost forgot about the shirts he bought for the boys over break. “Oh yeah, I went a little crazy on a shopping trip and got you puppies something.” He opened the bag and quickly threw one shirt to each of his friends, Conor giving him a surprised look of affection when he was handed his. He might’ve gone a little overboard by making sure they all had ties to match. 

 

Ned’s heart burst when Conor pulled him in by the shoulder and gave him a firm peck on the cheek. “Go ahead, try ‘em on. I wanna make sure I got the right sizes.”

 

So the pups stood up, stripped off their shirts and pulled on the new button-ups. “What’s this about, Eddie? Christmas is long gone.” Victor asked, but he was visibly excited about the group present.

 

Ned shrugged, watching them all get changed. “Just felt like doting on my friends, what’s wrong with that?”

 

“Nothing at all!” Darcy exclaimed with a wide smile. Ned felt a surge of pride at the new discovery of one of his friend’s soft spots, and they’d had enough conversations about fashion over the break to figure out what he liked.

 

Ned had been completely in the right to be so meticulous about these gifts. The four of them stood in a line, tying fabric around their necks and rolling up their sleeves, and he was so grateful that not one of them said a word about how ‘sissy’ it was to get your best friends formal wear out of the blue. 

 

He wasn’t afraid to admit that the boys looked simply pristine. Victor, in a dark blue cotton shirt with thin black lines running down the front and along the sleeves, complimented by a shiny black tie; Wally in a forest green button up to match his eyes with an ivory bow tie (because he seemed like the type,) Darcy looking as slick as Ned knew he would in a simple black shirt, accented by a magenta interior that was visible under the collar and rolled up cuffs, with a bright and thin tie to match. He didn’t want to play favorites, but he it was possible that Ned spent an extra ten minutes at the shop making sure that Conor’s shirt would be perfect for him. And indeed, he looked stellar in his dark teal button up (littered with the teeniest yellow crescents) and his own tie, the palest shade of yellow Ned could find. 

 

He cursed the faculty for making it impossible to take a picture of them, so he did his best to burn this image into his mind.

 

Wally beamed at all of them and crouched down with prayer hands to pose. “Dude, we look _suave!”_

 

Darcy looked at his reflection in the dark window, turning from side to side. “I know! Ned, you’re my fashion advisor from now on. I’m just disappointed that I don’t have an excuse to wear it.”

 

“I mean, the spring formal’s coming up, not that I have any plans on going.”

 

“Oh yeah,” Wally exclaimed, tucking hos shirt into his pants. “I forgot about that! I bet the girls at Riverside are just _dyin’_ to see me again.”

 

Victor was swiping his hands across Conor’s shoulders to straighten out any wrinkles in an adorable display of comradery. “For sure, I bet they all talk about that _one_ guy that they saw that _one_ time dance like a complete idiot a year ago.”

 

“You’re just jealous of my killer moves.” He swung his hips to an imaginary beat as if to prove how legendary they were. They certainly were not.

 

Conor walked over to Ned, looking as unbearably handsome as usual, and took his hands to pull him off the floor. There, in full view of their closest friends, he brought him in close to his chest and kissed him gently on the mouth.

 

“Thanks.” He said softly.

 

Ned knew within the deepest parts of his soul that they were completely safe in this space, and his heart began to race not out of anxiety, but in excitement at the mere thought that they had the freedom to be together without being alone. All the same, when had Conor decided to be so brazen? They’d never kissed in front of their friends before.

 

“PDA!” Wally shouted, but Ned couldn’t give less of a fuck.

  


A short time later, Ned demanded that the shirts be removed and folded neatly to avoid wrinkles, and they were all back in their usual positions. The fact that he was still wearing Conor’s hoodie had slipped his mind altogether until he felt Conor’s fingers loosely toying with the hem.

 

“Oh, I forgot to tell you guys; I smoked weed in California.”

 

“What?!” Wally shrieked, forgoing his previous conversation with Victor about some play he’d watched on Youtube. 

 

“Did you bring any back?” Was Victor’s first question, to which Conor rolled his eyes.

 

Darcy raised his eyebrows and snorted. “I think it’d be pretty disastrous if the star player got detained by US customs.”

 

“Still, think of your friends next time, will you?”

 

“Relax Victor, I’m sure you’ll get your chance.” Still, Ned was just as disappointed that he wouldn’t get to spend at least one day on campus as high as a kite. 

 

“So what was it like? It’s not hard to believe that we haven’t legalized it, but that doesn’t make me any less irritated about it.” Darcy said.

 

Conor looked at the ceiling in search for the words to describe it. “I don’t know, it was kinda like…walking on air. Liquor doesn’t even come close.”

 

Wally fell back, sprawling out on the floor. “I’m so jealous, man. How could you wait ‘till now to tell us?”

 

“I thought it’d be more fun to tell you in person. And _actually,_ ” A mischievous look that Ned had never seen before dawned in his eyes, and a bubble of excitement rose in his chest. “I was looking for my toothbrush today, and Janey’s roommate snuck a bag of these, like, gummies that are apparently full of it. She left instructions and everything.” 

 

Wally bolted up like he’d been brought back from the dead. “Really? You’re not just fucking with us, right?”

 

“I’m not that mean, man.”

 

Victor cheered. “This is the best news I’ve heard all day. Saddle up, lads, because we’re _going_ places!”

 

“Not tonight, I hope; we’ve got class in the morning.” Darcy reminded them.

 

“Darcy Lynch, I swear to the Lord above that I’m gonna teach you how to have fun one of these days.” 

 

“Nah he’s right, I really don’t know if getting blazed this late is gonna help my jetlag in the morning. We’ll eat em over the weekend, alright?” Conor said, looking fondly at the puppies.

 

The group took that as a promise.

  


                      ______________________________________________________________________________

  


_It’s so good to be back._

  


                      ______________________________________________________________________________

  


“I missed you.” Conor confessed for the two thousand, three hundred and forty-eighth time by his own internal count. He and Ned found themselves on the latter’s bed, illuminated by a single lamp on his desk, and had been sitting across from each other stealing soft kisses ever since they got back from HQ. He knew it was getting late, but he didn’t think he could stop himself even if he wanted to. After long nights dreading the state of his parent’s home and his stint in California, he had a whole new appreciation for his boyfriend. His boyfriend; something to call his own and feel grateful for during each hour of every day. He didn’t care that their moments had to be whispered behind a locked door or pushed aside in public, because nothing could make his feelings any less real.

 

“Okay, but what did you miss about me?” Ned giggled against his mouth.

 

“I missed kissing you, that’s for sure. How’d you get so good at it, anyway?” Each movement of Ned’s mouth took him further away from this plane of existence.

 

One of Ned’s hands moved up Conor’s thigh, making him dizzy. “Hmm, you make for good practice. What else?”

 

His need for attention was obvious and so endearing, and Conor was happy to oblige. He pulled back just an inch, prompting Ned to open his eyes. “God, I missed just lookin’ at ya. I know I’ve said it before, but I could look at you for ages. You’re gorgeous, Ned.” Everything about him, his eyes, his mouth, his cheekbones, it was all perfect; and he kissed him again with more fervor to prove his point. 

 

He must’ve said the right thing, because Ned wrapped his arms around his neck and all but jumped into his lap, never once breaking the kiss. When his tongue once again slipped past Conor’s lips, he took it as an invitation to run his hands up Ned’s (Conor doubted it belonged to him anymore,) hoodie, his skin growing warmer the longer they remained so. Ned’s hips moved forward, coming into contact with Conor’s shirt, and he felt a familiar simmering in the pit of his stomach. He wanted this, he wanted _more,_ and the air around them shifted.

 

Conor pulled back just a fraction, already trying to catch his breath. He wanted it all, even without knowing what it fully meant. Before Ned could capture his lips again, he had to ask, “Hey, you alright with this?” It might’ve been pointless to ask, but he had to be sure. Over the holiday, Janey and Leilani had sat him down for at least an hour laying down the laws of two little things called _boundaries_ and _consent._  

 

“Alright with what?” Ned purred. 

 

“Come on, you know what I’m talking about. I wanna…” He couldn’t think of the right way to say it and sharply exhaled when Ned licked his lips. “...feel you.”

 

Ned ran a hand through the back of Conor’s hair and he wondered if his boyfriend could hear his heart beating. “Yeah, I think that’s okay with me.” And he claimed Conor’s mouth again, sucking on his bottom lip and sending him spiraling down in the best way possible. He let go of everything that could make him nervous and gripped Ned’s ass with both hands like he’d been wanting to do for weeks. Ned groaned into his mouth and sent them tumbling backwards onto the bed, settling in between his legs and inching the heat in his abdomen increasingly lower. 

 

Ned pressed his crotch against Conor’s own and moved up in time with his hands kneading into the back of his jeans, and it was making him crazy. A moan escaped from his lips and he switched his attention to the front of Ned’s jacket. “Can I take this off?” He asked. 

 

Ned quickly nodded and Conor wasted no time in unzipping it, letting it fall off of his shoulders. Even those were perfect, and he guided Ned up an inch or two to plant deep kisses down his neck and along his collarbone. Ned sighed blissfully and swept the hand that wasn’t holding him up around the fabric of Conor’s pants, making his skin crackle with electricity. His fingers slipped underneath his waistband, and Conor lifted his hips in a feeble attempt to release some of the pressure that was building with a vengeance. 

 

The bed creaked with almost every one of their motions, and Conor had to make an executive decision to avoid any noise escaping through the walls before they went any further. “ _Fuck,_ this is driving me mad; get up for a sec.” 

 

It took Ned a few seconds to stop himself and register what he said, but after a moment he tore away, looking frightfully impatient. Trying not to think about how stupid it was that he had to do this in the first place, Conor got up and dragged the small mattress off the bedframe and onto the floor. Once it was in place, he took his boyfriend by the waist and lowered him down, reveling in how beautiful he looked underneath him. Ned gazed back at him, pupils the size of Mars and lips perfectly red and raw. Conor acted on instinct, first kissing him one more time and then burning a trail down his sternum, across his ribs, and below his belly button. He kissed every hair leading down into his jeans, grinning slightly at the way Ned shivered. 

 

Before he moved any lower, he placed sparing kisses on the way back up to look him directly in the eyes. His cheeks were rosy and his mouth slightly parted, and Conor had never seen anything more tantalizing. He delicately touched Ned’s belt buckle and he had to remind himself to breathe.

 

“Is this okay?” He asked, lightly tugging on the leather.

 

Ned gave him the sweetest look and pressed his lips to Conor’s, but this kiss had a different energy than before; it was soft and slow, as though to reassure Conor that he wanted this as much as he did. 

 

_“Yes.”_ He whispered against his lips. Before Conor could travel back down, Ned lifted up the hem of his t-shirt and cued Conor to raise his arms to lift it over his head. He threw the shirt over to some far off land to be disregarded until he could even think about needing it again, and once it was forgotten, Conor descended to continue what he started. He kissed and licked down Ned’s pale skin, committing every freckle to memory before gingerly undoing his belt. He unbuttoned Ned’s jeans, raising himself up to gently remove them from his hips and off his legs before tossing them to the side. 

 

He caught Ned’s eyes once more, just to be sure, and then turned his awareness to his boxers. It was a pair he’d seen before, but suddenly they were changing his life. Conor pressed his lips to a hip bone, savoring the way his skin tasted on his tongue. Ned’s clothed erection twitched, demanding his attention, but Conor wanted to take it slow; he wanted to make this moment last forever. He took the skin an inch above between his teeth and bit down hard enough to make Ned stifle a moan, and Conor couldn’t help but smirk to himself. Ned’s hips jerked up to invite Conor closer, but he wasn’t done yet. He bit another spot, a little higher up this time, and sucked until he was sure he’d successfully left a bruise. Didn’t Ned say something about leaving hickeys somewhere else? He nibbled his way around the slight dip of Ned’s waist, thoroughly enjoying the way the other did what he could to keep his little noises in the back of his throat.

 

He could’ve gone on like that for the next hundred years, but felt a pang of sympathy and desire when Ned choked out a, “Conor, _please.”_

 

Who was he to postpone _anything_ Ned asked for when he sounded so heavenly? He averted his gaze to Ned’s concealed dick, positively screaming with neglect. Slowly, deliberately, Conor ran his tongue up his length through the fabric, and Ned hands latched into his hair, already pulling at the roots. God, this was so new to him, but he couldn’t say that he was at a loss for what to do. He was overcome with a need to please his partner, and it was demolishing every single one of his thoughts. He tucked his fingers below Ned’s waistband and pulled it down just enough for the head to peak out. He gave it an experimental lick, immediately falling in love with the taste of his precum. Ned shivered, tugging at Conor’s scalp in a way that set his body on fire, and concluded that his boyfriend had had enough waiting around. So, like he was diving into the great unknown, his heart beating frantically, he dragged Ned’s underwear to the middle of his thighs and took him into his mouth. He chanced a look into the blue eyes above him when one of his hands left his hair, but Ned had thrown his head back, eyebrows furrowed with a hand over his mouth. 

 

And God help him if the two weeks he’d been dreaming of this moment hadn’t been worth it.

 

Conor worked his way slowly down, getting a feel for the situation at hand. It wasn’t hard (no pun intended) to figure out how exactly to move his tongue in time with his mouth and avoid contact with his teeth. He bobbed his head slowly at times, more quickly at others, and caressed Ned’s side with his left hand in a display of reassurance. Not that he needed it; he kept his bottom lip between his teeth and opened his mouth to gasp whenever Conor did something right. He sucked particularly hard at one moment, and almost choked when Ned’s hips jutted upward, sending the head directly against the back of his throat. Tears pricked at the corner of his eyes then, but he was on a mission to make his boyfriend feel euphoric. 

 

Ned’s breath picked up after minutes that Conor would never count, and he passionately increased the pace. He drank in every whispered, “Fuck, fuck, _fuck...”_ like it would never be enough. Ned’s hips rolled like waves, pulled his hair like he was trying to rip it out, and sent Conor’s brain onto another planet until he arched his back and came down his throat with a few quiet, labored breaths. It tasted a lot like his own, so he had little trouble swallowing it like it was an honor to do so. And _holy shit,_ it really was.

 

Conor lifted his body up, his own hard-on painfully straining against his pants, to check in on Ned. He planted soft kisses along his cheek and carefully ran his fingers along his jaw until he could convince him to open his eyes. They stared into each other’s souls and Ned looked like he was somewhere else completely.

 

“You okay?” Conor asked, trying to bring him back down to Earth.

 

Ned licked his lips and nodded before wrapping Conor up in a tight hug, trembling slightly. He kissed Conor like that could help him catch his breath. Conor chuckled into his mouth, but he wanted Ned to actually _tell_ him that he was all good. 

 

“How was that?” He breathed.

 

Ned hummed, and Conor felt him begin to relax. “Fuckin’… _ground-breaking.”_

 

They remained that way for a little while longer, Conor feeling lucky that he was even able to exist in the same space as this wonderful person. He felt his own desperation still coiling between his legs, but he didn’t care. All that mattered was this moment.

 

That is, until Ned turned his head and bit down on his earlobe, cause his body to seize up. His hand determinedly slipped down into Conor’s waistband, where he gripped his dick like he was trying to steal it. 

 

“I think it’s my turn.” Ned growled into his ear, and Conor would walk on an open flame before denying him.

  


                        ______________________________________________________________________________

  


_I’m different. I’ve changed. I’m a whole new person. My baptism is now completely irrelevant._

 

_When God created me, he looked upon my ethereal soul, atoms scattered into the deep, mysterious void of the universe and said,_

_“This one. I shall place him onto the green Earth of my creation, and he shall be born to suck cock.”_

_Sleep? Never heard of her. All I know is Conor’s perfect body and holy moans to get me through the rest of my life. Nothing is sexier than a man who prioritizes consent, and I’ll get down on my knees every day of the week for shit like that._

 

_I’d like to thank God and also Jesus for that perfect night._

  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hahahaha remember when I said there'd be no smut? Even if you don't, I just outed myself. I THINK that's as saucy as it's gonna get, but I can't make any promises. They're still just teens, but it's important to the story! And relationship development!
> 
> Say hey to me over on my tumblr (@Blapblaps,) cause it's dead over there. Tell me what you think about Darcy, cause I have so many ideas for him and I wanna know if any of you would be interested in me developing his story more. I needed to write a BFF for Ned and he just ran away from me.
> 
>  
> 
> (P.S my roommate found a Casio Rapman in a dumpster, and it's so much fun to play with.)


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thinking, bantering, laughing and floating

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey ya'll, sorry it took so long to get this chapter up, but I hope this one's worth the wait. To be completely honest, the first half of this could be seen as my alcohol induced and sleep deprived mind trying to type. It's pretty slow going, and I'd say this chapter is kinda like a filler before the plot starts picking up again. Little moments and feelings, all rolled into something called Character Development.
> 
> Like seriously, one of Ned's journal entries is just mindless rambling, but I think it's true to his character. So bear with me, cause the second half is where the fun starts! (Also sorry that after 24 chapters I'm still trying to figure out how to format this shit in a way that makes sense.)
> 
> I love writing this with my whole damn heart.

_During the frigid month of January, in the tiny industrial complex known as “boarding school,” it’s always been hard not to feel cramped. Trapped. Suffocated. Whatever word you wanna use to describe the weight that’s historically been pressed against my chest while I wait out the winter months. At least during the early fall and springtime I could waste away outside, considering all of the possibilities that await me in the greater world. January has always been bleak, to say the least._

_However, when I woke up on Tuesday morning wrapped in Conor’s delightful wholeness, it felt like the middle of July. Now, I don’t /love/ summer; I don’t like to sweat, and I hate any heat that feels inescapable, but that’s besides the point. What I’m saying is that in the midst of my boyfriend, my friends, and the new appreciation I have for life in general, winter can kiss my ass._

_I’ve never felt so warm._

_I’ve had to get used to a lot of new changes lately, and if one of them is the introduction of chilly mornings dipped in wandering hands and breathless gasps, then I guess I’ll be taking many more cold showers. I’m fine with that._

_Should I tell Darcy? I really, REALLY want to, and I have no idea why. We’ve talked about a lot of things (and I mean, so many things,) but I don’t know what the social protocol is for telling your friend about first time sexual endeavours with your secret boyfriend. I feel like I’ll have to, and I have full confidence that he’ll take my secrets into the great beyond. What a cool guy._

 

_And what the hell is up with the psychic entity known as Victor Hines? I know he’s too considerate to actually say anything and too straight to ask for details, but the look in his eyes during that breakfast gave it away. He knows, and I’ll never be able to understand how he does it. He and Conor shared a very meaningful, very threatening look over the table, so I think he’ll keep his mouth shut, and Conor and I will keep that night to ourselves._

_Anyway, I feel like a year has passed since the start of the holidays, and it’s more difficult than usual to get back into the swing of classes. Darcy was handed his new schedule shortly after breakfast, and I felt his sigh of relief down to my soul._

_My uniform has always felt like it hangs on to me in a weird way, like it knows how resentful I am of everything it represents; but after metaphysically shedding about ten skins over the course of the year, it’s as though I’m wearing an old shadow made of cotton and polyester. I’m grateful for all of the newfound joys I’ve discovered on this campus, but the one thing that hasn’t changed is my growing desire to get the fuck out of here. I’ll take all of these lessons (and hopefully every one of my friends) with me, but if there’s anything else that God is saying to me, it’s that I still don’t belong._

  


             ________________________________________________________________________________________

  


After eleven years (that have felt like thirty-five at the very least) of winter holidays and first days back at school, Ned could say that getting back into the habit of daily assignments and a responsible sleep schedule wasn’t difficult for him. Did it become ever more treacherous as the years passed? Yes, of course, and he knew that it likely wasn’t going to get any easier if he really did decide to pursue higher education. He definitely couldn’t look forward to an honor’s award any time soon, but, especially with the help of Darcy’s notes, he was confident in his ability to pass with a little more than the bare minimum where academia was concerned.

Once upon a time, he would’ve also said that he could reacclimate to the social climate of Woodhill College with similar ease. Now, however, after his eyes had been metaphorically opened for the first time in his whole life, this was a different story altogether. 

For some reason, even after years of mentally steeling himself against any kind of psychological or verbal attack, it was as though his walls had been torn down. Like he’d returned to campus with new ears; ears that were vulnerable to the taunts and jeers he’d grown so used to hearing almost every day since he started primary school. The same hostile words were digging into his skin like it was nothing, and the average judgemental glances sent his way whenever he walked the school alone alerted his spidey-senses like he’d never seen them before. What were they judging him for, anyway? It’s not like his and Conor’s relationship had been broadcasted over the intercom. It wasn’t the same paranoia that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up; the aggression just pissed him off more than usual.

This feeling, this irritation, this specific increase of his heart rate, was foreign to him.

It wasn’t like he had suddenly gained the ability to physically hold his own against bullies, but the sensation threatening to push its way out of his throat wasn’t fear or exasperated nonchalance; it was a heightened impatience. Sure, he’d been ready to jump at any chance to escape from school until the whole upheaval with Conor, and he supposed that that was its own special type of impatience. But in the couple of weeks after the break, each and every _“Eurrghhh”_ that drifted into his consciousness aggravated him on a whole new level. 

He had no expectation that his daily life would change even a fraction, but for the first time, he’d let himself forget all about it during his days at home. Ned was going through a lot of firsts, wasn’t he? Either way, he thought he didn’t care anymore. He had the most attractive, most caring fella within a hundred kilometer radius; what did he care if some ignorant morons wanted to tease him for the fun of it? He was always able to put himself above all that, reassuring his anxiety with the knowledge that one day, one glorious, blessed day, he’d be on a train to somewhere new without ever having to look back. 

As much as he regretted to admit it, the magic of waiting to share stolen moments behind his and Conor’s closed door couldn’t hold back the detrimental feeling of getting knocked down forever.

Of course he still loved it, and cherished the hours they spent together with every fiber of his being, but as classes, lectures, and homework dragged on, it couldn’t keep his agitation at bay when he encountered a line of boys intentionally jamming their bodies into him in the hallway. He knew there was a time limit on how long they’d have to keep their relationship a secret, and could literally count down the days until the end of term, but still. The fact remained that his freedom was still lightyears away, even after hearing about Conor’s liberating experience in California.

Was it because he’d finally gotten to experience the euphoria of being, _ahem, sexually active_ (even though they had their limits tucked away in their dorm) and it was no longer a thrilling distraction? Probably not, since it was still more fun than he ever dared to dream of. And don’t get him wrong, he was grateful for the company of his friends, as it served to keep him safe from any outside threats as they travelled the campus together, and their laughter could keep him going for weeks.

But as time passed, and the weather was determined to remain exactly as was normal for Northern Ireland, Ned was coming to the harsh realization that his relationship with Conor couldn’t overshadow how alienated he felt all the time. Being with Conor, and all of the brilliant exhilaration that came with it, lately had him resenting the fact that he couldn’t be publicly proud of this milestone. It wasn’t as though he wanted to share these experiences with the world; (he considered himself to be the private type, anyway,) but the fact that he couldn’t made him want to brag about it even more. He just wanted to do all the sickeningly small things that straight couples got to do in public all the time: hold hands, kiss him in the hallway before the start of classes, and feel the reassurance of Conor’s arm around his shoulders in more places than just the empty classroom upstairs. He’d always felt an animosity for public displays of affection when he saw it in the real world, but now that his first opportunity to do so had been brutally ripped from his hands, he understood why couples felt the need to show off their love like it was an award.

He knew that it had been a miscalculation on his part to overlook the tense conditions that would surround him again while he was away, but he couldn’t stop himself from asking, how, when he had undergone such a monumental change could everything around him stay the same? It hit him like a culture shock the first time someone shouted that raucous sound directly into his ears during history class on Tuesday morning.

And it’s not just his increasing frustration at the casual bully that’s got him stirred up, it’s the fact that wherever he went, his classmates were calling each other “gay,” “fag” and “poofer” just because they could, and without ever sparing a thought to what those words actually mean. Obviously, he couldn’t grace them with the high belief of doing any kind of social research, but those guys had no shame. They didn’t know how dangerous those words were, even now, and the history of oppression they held. Ned was fully aware that not too long ago, you’d get killed in a dark alley if anyone so much as dared suggest that you were a homosexual, and that idea was as terrifying to him now as it was back then. In a way, he was grateful that _most_ of those things were in the past, but it reminded him that who he “chose” to care for could be seen as a threat. 

What if, one day, those seemingly insignificant taunts became something more? What if he’s caught in the wrong place at the wrong time, around the wrong people without the aid of his friends, and those jokes cost him his life? Or worse, Conor’s? Every jeer, every little shove, every smirk, just reminded him more each time that no matter how happy he’d become privately, he’s still not accepted; and it made him increasingly anxious of the immediate future.

For example, a few days into the new year, Ned was walking out of chemistry, lamenting about how he didn’t share the class with Darcy anymore, when he felt a firm hand grab him by the arm and yank him into a supply closet. His instincts, the product of years of escaping bullies, told him that he’d suddenly become a victim and had to run. His heart began to race along with his mind as the door slammed shut behind him and he was cornered into the dark room. He’d been on the verge of a panic attack until the chain connected to the light on the ceiling was pulled, and he was confronted by Conor, a sly smile illuminated across his face like he’d successfully pulled off a heist.

“Oh my God, Conor, you scared the _shit_ out of me.” He’d whispered in the low light. He’d definitely need to have a conversation with him about this later. 

Conor only laced their fingers together and rested his forehead against Ned’s, and after a few deep, slow breaths, the shorter of the two began to relax. Jeez, did this guy really have no idea? “Sorry, Neddie; I just missed ya.”

Ned had rolled his eyes, but pleasant butterflies had erupted in his stomach against his better judgement. “We _live together_ , jackass, you only had to wait another hour, tops.”

“That’s way too long.” He’d said, and Ned couldn’t help his own grin as Conor leaned down to kiss him. Ned was such a fool for this guy that a meteor would start hurtling into the Earth’s atmosphere before he’d stop catering to the whims of Conor’s lovesick nonsense. 

So, among only the sound of Ned’s heartbeat and the thundering of students passing through the hall, they’d made out in the tiny closet for the remainder of the short minutes between classes, and when the bell distantly rang out, he’d pretty much had to push his boyfriend off of him with a, “We’re trying to keep it on the _down-low_ , remember? Can’t exactly keep that up if we’re both late for class.”

Conor kissed him once more with such softness that Ned wondered when, if ever, he’d reclaim his self control. “You’re no fun, Roche.”

“Well, one of us has gotta be when you’re so stupid.” He realized that his words didn’t have much bite when one of his hands was still threaded through Conor’s hair, and he’d ripped it away with great difficulty.

“Yeah, stupid for you.”

“Oh my _God,_ get out.”

Conor departed first under Ned’s instructions (under the guise of the star right-half having the most eyes on him,) but Ned really needed a few more seconds to gather his senses. When he finally walked out of the closet, (hilarious) he’d encountered Dan Sherry walking towards him in the deserted hallway. Sherry didn’t teach class during third hour. Right.

He’d spotted Ned immediately, and the way he raised his eyebrows made it seem like the floor had opened up to swallow him whole. “Get to class, Roche.” He’d said nonchalantly, but the look in his eyes was far too similar to Victor’s.

“Yes, sir.” Ned had spluttered, hoping the color on his face was more of a light dusting rather than a tomato red siren. If Sherry didn’t know anything before, (and he certainly had some kind of suspicion, judging by the looks Ned and Conor received when they let their glances linger for a second too long during English,) he’d have to be an idiot to let something like this slip under his radar. 

Anyway, back to the example at hand: on a day that Ned was fretting over how he’d survive that night’s monstrous homework assignment, his mind found its way over to that particular five minute timespan in the supply closet. He’d looked at the floor and smiled to himself, suddenly feeling fifty times warmer in the bustling hallway. And as quickly and ominously as an oncoming storm, he was forcefully removed from his daydream when he felt a stone cold shoulder slamming into his side, and a dominating voice roaring, “What’re you grinnin’ about, faggot?” followed by rambunctious laughter from four? No, more like five boys. Ned didn’t bother to look as he’d scurried off, praying to the tiled floor that he could get away. Jesus, if only they actually knew. 

Fortunately, nothing more happened and he had managed to escape any potential danger, but it reminded him that no matter what, he couldn’t escape his classmates, infected with world-renowned prejudices.

When it came to small incidents like this, should he tell his friends? Darcy’s coined Ned Protection League flashed through his mind, but they already did all they could to stay by his side without needlessly going out of their way. Even though he had so much more to hide, in reality, he was safer than ever. But at the same time, he’d spent years taking care of himself, and he didn’t want to become dependant on their company like that. Nothing was _actually_ wrong, it was just his perception that had changed. His willingness to put up with bullshit like that was dwindling, but it wasn’t like he’d ever been the kind of person to fight back, save for that one time he’d tried and miserably failed to throw a punch at Weasel.

Speaking of Weasel, he was the one person out of all of his usual aggressors that seemed to be leaving him alone. He wasn’t any more scared for his own safety when it came to that guy; he was more worried about Conor in that regard. And the seasonal break from rugby had been a welcome separation between the two, as far as Ned was concerned. Whenever they passed in the halls, Ned’s dorm block, or in the dining hall, Weasel only gave him a passing glance at most. If the other guy had been any sort of good person, Ned would wonder where his sudden change in demeanor came from. In another time, Weasel would jump at any chance to harass him, but judging by the way his eyebrows furrowed at the sight of him now, it seemed like he had other things on his mind.

So, at the end of this long, treacherous thought process that successfully whiled away an hour of algebra that he couldn’t care less about, Ned simply hoped that he could survive another five and a half months of feeling this way without it getting any worse. He appreciated Conor, his friends, and all the ways in which they spent their days in this hellish establishment. 

One day, he’d be able to look back on these years and feel proud that he made it out alive.  

  


          ________________________________________________________________________________________

   


_The thing about maths, and algebra as a whole is very simple. I fucking hate it. It has never made any sense to me and it never will. I’m a writer, an artist, a student of critical thinking; and algebra is a language that my many brain cells will forever cease to comprehend._

_Whatever it is, I was deep in the depths of my homework the other night, holding a lifelong grudge against anyone who thought it was necessary for the population to know (and then later completely forget about) any of these concepts. My attempts at understanding sine, cosine, and whatever the hell else was propelling me closer to spontaneous combustion, so I did the only thing that felt right._

_The shriek that had been residing within the deepest parts of my soul escaped through my open mouth as I slammed my head against the desk, reminiscent of the ‘It’s Wednesday, My Dudes’ Vine that Darcy thought impertinent to show us over the holiday. The sensation, the crescendo, the piercing cry ripped through my lungs and into the air, and may the boys down the hall forgive me, but it was therapeutic._

_Oh yeah, and Conor was in the room with me, presumably working on his own studies. All I heard from his side of the room was the classic snort before I felt his comforting presence creep up behind me. He put his hands on either side of my chair, leaned over, and kissed the side of my face that wasn’t glued to my desk._

_He laughed softly in my ear, “What’re you screamin’ about, babe? It’s not even Wednesday.”_

_“Oh, so we’re doing pet names now?” Not that I mind, but it’s so fun to mess with him._

_He spun me around, prompting me to peel my face of the surface, and the look on his own was one of soft embarrassment, but the smirk he had could’ve ended me. He’s so cute. “I sucked your dick; I think I’m allowed to call you babe.”_

_True. Though I suppose I’ve never thought about when the right time was to break out terms of endearment. “Sure, I guess we’ve hit that milestone. Algebra’s kicking my ass; I think I’ll have to go hassle Darcy to tutor me.” Who’s idea was it that algebra 2 should be a graduation requirement, and why were they such a sadist? Who hurt them?_

_“How come you never ask me for help? I’m pretty good at math, and I did pass that part of midterms, ya know.”_

_“Because, when have we ever been able to do homework together? You’re too distracting. And no offence or anything, but Darcy’s easily the smartest person in our group. Or at least the most qualified to offer his help,_ **_Honey._ ** _” I added that last part just to see the look on his face, and was rewarded with a sarcastic, “Shut up.”_

_Who knew it’d be so fun to kiss while laughing?_

 

_*_

_*_

_*_

 

_Now, I know we’re not technically millennials, but I feel like my previous generation really set the stage for a lot of mindsets for people our age. The critical thought that’s necessary to question authority (though I can’t speak for everyone,) a disdain for social norms and constructs (i.e handshakes and holding doors open,) and an apprehension for the security of our financial futures; all things that I thank millennials for starting, and will happily take the reigns for as I get older. Although, I can’t say I’m willing to accept all of the crushing burdens that older generations have put upon us, and then subsequently ignore and blame us for not being able to handle. Lifelong debt and the impossibility of retirement, for example._

_Darcy and I were having an in-depth conversation about all of the stupid things millenials are responsible for killing, and I’m happy to say that most of them include capitalistic values and outdated social ideals. Napkin manufacturing and the foundation of marriage, and by extension, divorce, to name a couple. On the topic of industries that we’d like to be responsible for wiping out, he said that, though he hasn’t had the chance to live without restrictions, he’d like to take the blame for destroying gender roles and breakfast cereal. I’m so proud of him._

_On my part, the only thing I can definitively take the blame for dismantling at this stage of my life is heterosexuality, and that got a good laugh out of him. But in the future, I’d like to neglect the nine-to-five job (cause I won’t be caught dead in any sort of office,) the diamond industry (because fuck that overpriced language of love,) and having children (because all children born are signed up to be slaves of the state, and I could never do something so cruel.)_

_I’ll probably never learn to drive a car, I’ll discourage everyone I’ll ever meet from going into law enforcement, and I already shop almost exclusively second-hand. I’m committed to my ideals._

_So this is Ned Roche, and I’m responsible for killing capitalism._

 

_*_

_*_

_*_

 

_Last night, Wally was determined to have some kind of rematch against Victor to test their physical abilities; he’s still not over Victor dissing him about his stamina or whatever. Long story short, they decided to see who could do the most weighted press-ups in the HQ, and I ended up sitting cross-legged on Victor’s back next to Darcy, who was planted firmly on Wally’s spine. We weigh about the same, but Wally requested the heavier of the two to prove that he could out-press Victor without a handicap._

_I’m not featherweight, okay? I’m just...slight._

_Conor was the ref who would determine what counted as a proper press-up, chest to the floor and back completely straight, as he’s probably the most unbiased out of all of us. It was quite enjoyable to say the least; I love watching the boys work out anyway, (otherwise I wouldn’t be caught sitting in on practices so often) and this time I could get a...comprehensive look at their form._

_After twenty-seven rises and slow falls onto the floor, I had to climb off of Victor’s back for fear of crushing his lungs. And Wally, prouder than I’ve ever seen him, successfully pulled off twenty-nine._

  


          ________________________________________________________________________________________

  


Over the course of the month, and between Conor’s lack of anything to focus on until the revival of rugby in march and Ned’s insistence, the two continued their habit of hanging out in the small room beneath the stage during off hours. Life was breathed into the space again not only because of Ned’s encouragement that Conor pick up the old guitar there, but also to have anywhere to hang out on their own besides their dorm. The beds, posters and curtains were comforting, but both of them had to admit that it could be suffocating and they were in dire need of a change in scenery.

So they took to sitting in the arm chairs across from each other, Ned reading a book, writing in his journal, or (very rarely) working on his homework while Conor taught himself new chords and rhythms without actually knowing what they were called. Turns out, though, he had a natural affinity for learning notes from certain songs by ear, much to Ned’s admiration. In an alternate dimension (really just a year prior,) he’d have resented any additional presence in one of his old sacred spaces, but his affection for the other boy coupled with how much Ned loved the sound of his singing voice melted all of those outdated sentiments.

“So when are you gonna serenade me?” He asked, looking up from his journal when he heard Conor pick a particularly impressive chord transition.

“When you read me something from your journal.” Conor quipped back, not missing a beat.

Ned sighed. They’d had this conversation a few times before; Conor asking for a dramatic reading of any of Ned’s passages and him outright refusing the whole idea. “The contents of this notebook are strictly confidential. For my eyes _only.”_ He wouldn’t even show it to his mother, God rest her soul.

“Guess you’re not getting a serenade, then.” 

Ned slumped back in the chair. Damn, but he really wanted the attention. “Please? Just give me, like, one line from your favorite song or something.”

Conor looked up from his hands at the strings and gave Ned a look that made the latter simultaneously want to kiss him and punch him in the face. “Not till you give me a paragraph. What’s in there that I don’t know about, anyways?”

“Nothing too damning but…” It wasn’t as though Ned was self conscious about his writing skills; he’d improved _loads_ since he started journaling, but in a world where he was surrounded by other people (bad and good) during all hours of each and every day, it was comforting to have something that belonged only to himself. But Conor knew him better than anyone else in the world, and Ned trusted him with everything he had. If he isn’t willing to give him just one more secret, who would all of his journals go to when he one day writes his will? Plus, after all this time, he _really_ wanted Conor to sing just for him.

“No pressure, Neddie, but I don’t sing for free.”

“Shoulda told me that before the variety show.”

“Wooooooow, that’s cold.”

Unable to keep his mirth inside his chest, Ned decided he was willing to bargain. “I’ll read something to you if you play me something right here and now.”

“Nah, the journal comes first.” What a smug piece of shit he could be sometimes.

So with the most exasperated sigh he could possibly release into the air, Ned flipped through the pages of his beaten down notebook, (he’d already need to start the next one _very_ soon) and settled on a passage he thought it was safe to confess. It was from a couple days before Weasel slammed his head into a wall, and even that felt like forever ago.

He cleared his throat like it was such a burden to bear, and began to read:

 

_I can’t help thinking that Mr Sherry knows about me and Conor, not that I would be worried if he did. I’ve really been focusing on paying attention in class now that I can’t plagiarize old music in my essays, but lately I catch him giving me and Conor knowing looks from the front of the room. Jesus, Conor, could you be more obvious? I keep catching him looking at me in the corner of my eye during class, not that I’m complaining all that much. But he should really try harder to listen to what’s going on right in front of him, because I definitely won’t tutor him._

_And what the hell am I supposed to get Wally for Christmas? I want to make it kind of special since it’s also his 17th. I know full well what it’s like to not have your birthday celebrated, and I want to show the puppies how much I appreciate their friendship. But that guy is such a mixed bag, I have no idea what to get him. I realized that as much as he talks, he never really talks about himself. I didn’t have a clue that he comes from a large family, and suddenly there’s a lot that I don’t know about him. How many siblings does he have? Where does he want to go to University? What were his thoughts on homosexuality before hanging out with me and Conor? Darcy would probably know; I’d ask Wally myself if there was ever a moment that he wasn’t joking around._

_It’s obvious that I’m getting Conor a present regardless of ‘Secret Santa.’ I want to make it really special, and I know he’s not really the type to care about material things. I just have to figure out how I’m going to express the myriad of ways he’s bettered my life since we met in so few words. I could honestly write a novel about all the ways he makes me feel._

 

Okay, so he’d definitely forgotten about that last part before he began to read, and _maybe_ his voice lost just a touch of its confidence as he read through that little paragraph, but it was too late. He didn’t have a chance to gauge the look on Conor’s face before his boyfriend put his guitar to the side and stepped over to him, immediately peppering his mouth and cheeks with little kisses. Did Conor forget that this room didn’t have a door, or did he just lack caution and humility? Either way, Ned couldn’t reign in the laughter that bubbled up from his chest, kissing Conor back like they didn’t have a care in the world. 

“Thanks, I liked that.” The taller said against his mouth, not at all hindered by Ned’s giggles.

“I did it for a price, don’t forget. You owe me a song.”

Conor pulled himself away and Ned settled back into his chair, eager to listen to Conor’s calming voice. He picked up the guitar, took a breath, and without another word, began the intro.

He plucked the chords a little slower than the original, still getting used to the progression, but Ned picked up on the melody at once; it was a song he knew almost by heart. Conor started to sing, and the words flowed from his mouth:

 

_Revolving doors, what have I done?_

_There’s someone on the TV, attempting love_

_Revolving doors, what will I become?_

_A redneck song_

 

Ned could listen to his voice for the rest of the night if Conor would let him. He was enchanted, and his heart was full. Sure, the notes weren’t spot on and there were a few missteps here and there, but he couldn’t care less. Everything about it was perfect to him.

It was over far too soon, and Ned thought that he’d probably read his entire journal at the next assembly, unleashing his secrets unto the whole school, just to have Conor Master’s voice on tap.

  


On the staircase, many worlds away from this small moment, an older heart cherished all the ways young love could thrive in a place like this.

  


          ________________________________________________________________________________________

  


The day had come. It was time. The moment had arrived.

No one knew why the group had waited until the last Saturday in January to take the edibles; maybe it was because they were all more nervous about it than they let on. Even internally, though, Conor was undoubtedly the most relaxed about it; he hadn’t spent five out of ten days high as a kite in California for nothing. 

Leilani had left _very_ detailed instructions for the experience, folded up in the same plastic bags as the enhanced gummy bears. 

 

_Honorary little brother, this is a gift from me to you! I loved having you here, and you’re welcome back at any time._

_There are ten gummy bears in here so you can make them last as long as you want or give them to your friends. Tell Ned I say hi, by the way. These little buddies are jam packed, so I HIGHLY RECOMMEND you only take one at a time at the very most, and make sure you don’t have to be in class for a while, cause it should last you a few hours. They’ll take anywhere from 20 minutes to an hour (in some cases even longer, it just depends on the person) to kick in, so you just have to be patient. Don’t take any more cause you don’t think it’s working, please. Please._

_Let me say, just in case, you’re gonna be fine. There’s plenty of CBD (the shit that’s like a cure for any ailment) so you won’t get anxious. Just keep the atmosphere chill. Listen to some cool music, hang out in a quiet place, and let it take you to wherever you need to go._

_Have fun, and take it easy! And you’re smart, but I can’t speak for the rest of your friends so I’ll say it again. EAT ONE AT A TIME._

 

_Love you!_

_-Lei_

 

They had planned to go up to the Puppy Parade Headquarters shortly after the campus went quiet to take a half each, and kept their conversations about it down to a whisper in case any passerby figured out what they were up to. When they ascended the stairs, Ned realized that he was more excited than nervous. What would it be like? How would it feel? In his long list of new experiences, he was happy to add this night to it. 

Victor brought his bluetooth speaker and ipod (it was ridiculous that they still had to have ipods in the fresh year of 2017,) Darcy remained relatively quiet throughout their journey, and Wally carried the Rapman because it supposedly “kept it chill.” 

Once they were safely behind the closed door of HQ, Wally said apprehensively, “I’m honestly kinda sussed out, you guys. They don’t call it the Devil’s Lettuce for nothing.”

“I’ve seen you blackout drunk; how can you be nervous about _anything?”_  

“Don’t be so dramatic.” Conor added with confidence. “I’ve witnessed blackout drunk, and Wally hasn’t even come close.”

Wally started up the keyboard on his lap and played a little ditty in thanks for Conor’s support.

Victor narrowed his eyes across the room, perched on his desk like he was a benevolent king. “As elegantly as you hide it, Darce, I know you’re not as cool as you act; you’re just as nervous as he is.”

Darcy scoffed and rolled his eyes, but Ned was slowly learning his friend’s miniscule tells. Maybe it was simply in his nature, but for some reason unbeknownst to mankind, Darcy Lynch was hell-bent on acting like there wasn’t a thing that could scare him. “The only thing I’m worried about is having to listen to that keyboard when I’m high.” He also had a habit of turning the attention towards his friends when he felt singled out. Interesting.

Conor reopened the bag, and Ned caught a glimpse of the colorful little bears through the plastic. He divvied three out of the bag so they could each have half of one, and would draw straws for who’d be taking a full dose. Conor had also vowed that they’d all get an even share, since he didn’t know if he could shoulder the responsibility of having five edibles all to himself (and Ned of course,) for the rest of the term. 

Victor eyed the piece of gelatin in his hand like it was gold. “Why can’t we take both at once? Go big or go home, right?”

“Because there’s no one here that’s gonna want to share with you, probably. You might love it, so you should save the other for later.” Ned advised. He didn’t know what to expect, but the idea of the puppies high on way too much marijuana sounded like a bad night.

However, as fate would have it, Victor drew the short straw, meaning that he would be the one to eat the whole out of the three. “Yes!!” He cheered and looked up at the ceiling. “God is real and he’s with us tonight! Time to swap spit, ducklings.”

The shared a cheers and Victor popped a red one into his mouth. Ned was so thrilled for the chance to share this experience with his puppies that he didn’t give it a second thought when he turned to see Conor, grinning at him with a very specific look in his eyes and the green candy in between his teeth. Ned leaned in and pressed his mouth to Conor’s, taking his half when the other bit down, feeling more like a teenage rebel than ever before. 

Ned was about to pull away when he heard Victor’s voice shouting, “Hey, not in front of the children!” But Conor flipped him off and kept Ned against him for a few more seconds before leaning back. 

Ned turned away, hoping the sensation of his whole body burning up wasn’t too obvious to the rest of them. He caught sight of Wally, who’d decided to imitate Conor by holding his and Darcy’s blue piece between his teeth. He wiggled his eyebrows at his roommate and said encouragingly, “Wanna kiss me?”

“No!”

 

About half an hour later, the group was deep into a pressing conversation.

“So you’re telling me that you wanna get struck by lightning at least _once_ before you snuff it?” Victor asked Wally, looking pleasantly exasperated.

“No, I’m saying that I wanna get struck by lightning at least _one more time_.”

Darcy seemed like he was trying to act annoyed, but he was smiling all the same. “I refuse to believe you’ve been hit even once, you dolt.”

“I have! I was in the car and I swear, I fucking felt it. It was like a,” He pressed a button on the Rapman, provoking a high-pitched _VEEP_ for emphasis, “Zap through my whole body!”

Ned sighed. “Do you even know how unlikely it is to get struck by lightning in this part of the world? About one in a million. And I can assure you that if you’d been struck in a moving vehicle, you wouldn’t be here to tell the tale.”

Conor spoke from his forever destined spot against Ned. “Don’t some people survive it? It’d make for some pretty cool scars, just sayin.”

“Wally, you’ve told me this story before, and you were four years old. I promise that you dreamt it or something.” Darcy quipped.

Wally ignored him. “Victor, back me up here. Wouldn’t it be cool to get famous for getting struck by lighting?”

“Ha! So you admit that it didn’t happen!”

Victor chuckled, shaking his head. “Aside from the cardiac arrest, yeah, it sounds _real_ cool.”

Instantly after these words were spoken, _something_ hit Ned like the aforementioned lighting. His body was overcome with something like a wave, and his brain flew straight out of his skull and into another dimension. He was floating and falling at exactly the same time, and every movement of his features made it feel like his skin was made of clay.

“It hit me.” He said, and he suddenly was very aware of the air moving in and out of his lungs. 

“What?! I don’t feel anything yet, and I took more than you!” Victor whipped his head around, looking affronted. 

“Well, Leilani said how long it takes to take effect depends on the person, so Ned must be the first one.” Conor said, kissing Ned on the temple, making the spot tingle brilliantly, spreading all the way through his hair and down his neck.

“Yaaaay.” Was all he could think to say.

 

After about ten minutes of conversation and laughter that Ned really couldn’t keep up with, Wally started laughing at something Darcy said. But it wasn’t his usual laughter, not at first. Whatever was said, it got him good, because he soon started giggling breathlessly, eyes shut tight and slowly tipping over to lean on his roommate. “I’m hit!” He cried, sending him into another fit of howls. 

“Damn, two down, three to go.” Victor said, smirking like some sort of villain. Villainous…villain. Jesus, he really was _attractive,_ wasn’t he? Not as cute as Conor though, whose arm was draped around Ned’s shoulders, softly playing with his hair. _Wow_ that felt good; like liquid electricity dripping into his scalp. Conor was the best.

“Ned, mate, you’re _supremely_ squinty right now.” Darcy observed, and Ned became hyper focused on his friend’s sweatshirt. It was light blue, and it was like he could see every thread hidden in the fabric with his amplified senses. Darcy was handsome too, how were all of his friends so fucking _good looking?_  

“Huh?” 

Conor chuckled and moved forward to look into Ned’s eyes, and Ned smiled on instinct at the sight of his boyfriend’s face. “Hey.” He said.

“Hey.” Conor’s adorable face replied. “Yeah, you’re pretty squinty.”

Upon forcing his mind to consider himself as a concept that was held down in the material realm, much less being an entity that had something like eyelids in general, Ned broke out into his own giggles. Damn, how obvious was he being right now? Did they all know? Whether they did or not, the whole idea was hilarious. 

 

Victor was next to feel the effects, positively melting onto his large desk by laying flat on top of it and said deeply, “Holy _shit._ ” 

“Yeah? You good, buddy?” Conor asked, still looking completely put together. 

Victor hummed, swinging his legs back and forth over the surface. “Oh, I’m so good. I’m fuckin’…drowning. In a good way. In goodness.”

“Cool, man.” 

 

Some stretch of time later, (even though time was a construct created by the world government to control the masses when humans were _obviously_ creatures that could never be chained down by something so meaningless, so trivial. I mean, why else did they need anything like hours or minutes or seconds unless it was to tell people when to work? The sun goes up and the sun goes down, that’s all they needed to be aware of. Who needed North, South, and whatever else when they had the stars in the sky? The galaxy, the _universe_ was infinite. It didn’t care about fake shit like time. They were infinite creatures, unbound by bodily limitations. Yeah.) Conor began to get much more touchy feely, and Ned felt each of his little touches within every one of his two-hundred and six bones. Bones are so weird. 

He had an inkling that Conor had gone up, because he was nuzzling into Ned’s hair like he did when they were all alone in bed together. Ned didn’t mind though; humans were beings created by affection, so who cared if all their friends saw? He loved them just as much as he did Conor, anyway. 

“How ya doin’ Ned? You haven’t said anything in like, forty-five minutes.” Darcy asked, trying to stay afloat under Wally’s weight. 

“I am…exceptional. How are you?”

He tried time and time again to push his lump of a roommate off of him, but Wally was a puddle. “I’m irritated that I haven’t been hit yet! It must be fate that I’m stuck babysitting you all.”

“Don’t worry about it, man. Lei said it could take over an hour to kick in for some people.” Conor reassured him. 

 

And so it was, a whopping hour and a half after their dose and in the middle of one of Victor’s playlists, (of course that guy listened to trap, of all things, but it was low and slow; the bass surrounding Ned from all angles, so he didn’t mind) Darcy finally let Wally sink his head onto his lap, and he got a tranquil smile on his face. 

A little while ago, Ned decided that he absolutely _needed_ a cigarette, and it took him far too long to roll one up. 

“Where are you gonna smoke that?” Conor asked him.

“Out the window.” Desperate times, and Ned couldn’t care less; the whole building was empty. After he remembered how to move his legs, he ripped himself apart from Conor’s warmth and opened up the small window into the night. The air was so quiet and still, and the crisp wind drifted onto his skin, sending his body to another place entirely. He inhaled, exhaled, and this was heavenly. 

“Fuck. You guys, I’m so hungry.” Darcy’s voice sounded from below him. 

Victor sounded heartbroken. “Yeah, why the hell didn’t we bring any snacks? I _need_ to eat.”

Ned was full on nicotine, but the truth resounded around them. They certainly, undoubtedly, unequivocally needed snacks. 

“Let’s go down to the kitchens and steal whatever’s down there!” Wally spoke up, sounding like his voice was made of pure air. On second thought, it was, wasn’t it?

Conor groaned, and Ned turned to face the group, leaning on the window sill. “I don’t think any of us can even _move_ right now.”

“I would literally kill a man to eat something right now. I promise you, we can move. Or else I’m gonna starve to death.”

“Trueee.” Victor added.

 

Ned was able to finish his cigarette before Darcy could shove Wally’s head off of his legs and rouse the others enough to get up on their own. Time is a construct, but Darcy was an unshakeable force. Somehow, without ever realizing how it happened or how they got from one place to another, the group was slowly, _incrementally_ moving down the stairs, praying to any entity they believed in that they could get into the kitchens. They didn’t have to worry too much about being quiet, since it seemed like they were too focused on putting one foot in front of the other. 

The only thing Ned had processed about their trip along the grass to the dining hall was the cold seeping into every cell in his body. Why hadn’t he disintegrated into space dust yet? 

After checking the back door into the building (locked, obviously,) Victor noticed that one of the windows had been cracked open just a touch. He gathered the rest of them around, pulling the window open as wide as it would go and yanking off the screen like he didn’t have any more fucks to give. The window was high up from the ground, and one of them would need a leg up to hop in.

“Who’s goin’ in?” He whispered into the night, glancing around them in the dark. 

“I’ll do it; you don’t even know how desperate I am.” Darcy spoke like a true hero. “Give me a lift, would you?” 

Ned was so grateful that he was left out of any equation that involved physical labor, and he watched in a daze as Victor crouched down to take Darcy’s right foot in his hands, and Conor gave them the extra push required to haul him up to the window. Darcy lifted his body the rest of the way, leaned forward, and the next thing Ned heard was a body slam onto the floor…twice?

“ _FUCK!_ I landed on the stove!”

Wally and Conor spluttered into silent laughter and Ned whisper-yelled, “Are you okay?”

“Yes. I’m going in.”

 

It took hours, days, months, _ages_ for them to get any word from their brave thief. Had he been caught somehow? Had a divine entity found him in the dark and turned him into stone? No such thing had occurred thankfully, for after ten years they finally heard Darcy’s voice again.

“Head’s up, I’m throwing out a box.”

“A box?”

Indeed, a cardboard box was shoved out the window above their heads, and Victor caught it with a, “Holy shit, way to go, Lynch.”

“Thank me after I break my ankles.”

Darcy’s feet, legs, ass, and torso materialized out of the window in that order, and though Wally couldn’t actually _catch_ him persay, he did his best to prevent any lasting damage. He caught the taller of the two from behind around his chest, and they both toppled backwards into the crunchy grass. 

Darcy held a hand over his mouth to prevent his laughter from reverberating throughout the grounds, but he turned and buried his face into the crook of Wally’s neck and his body shook with palpable giggles. Ned realized through the perception of his feet rising and falling back onto the ground that he’d never seen his best friend so shamelessly giddy.

“Thanks, buddy.” He chortled before Conor offered his hand to pull him back up.

On their way back to the spot, Victor looked into the box he was carrying. “So what’d you get?”

“I dunno, man. I’m so hungry that I just grabbed everything that my brain said ‘yes’ to.”

 

Somehow they landed back up the stairs and into the cave of wonder, and as soon as the door was shut behind him, they dug into the box like they hadn’t eaten in days. Darcy got just about _everything;_ enough crisps, biscuits, cans of custard, tiny oranges and more to feed a small army, unquestionably enough to tip off the kitchen staff that they were suffering a supply shortage. He even grabbed a can opener and utensils for them all. What a genius. 

In no time at all, the only sounds in the room were the boys crunching on God-given food and eating custard out of the can with forks, plus whatever was coming from Victor’s speaker. The taste of citrus was making Ned’s tongue sing and his brain burst, yet somehow it was never enough. They’d become bottomless pits of pure hunger, primally ravenous. When Victor’s playlist ended and the munching had slowed to a steady pace, Wally attempted to play the Rapman. Something was definitely wrong with him, however, because all he could manage was a single note repeated over and over again. It didn’t quite sum up how Ned was feeling.

“Dude, Wally, please stop; it feels like I’m stuck in a time loop.” Victor begged, looking like he didn’t know what was real. 

“Sorry, this key is just really _doing_ something to me right now.”

Darcy ripped the keyboard from his hands and set it aside. “Yeah, well, it’s making me fucking crazy. Victor, DJ.”

“Gotcha.” Victor said, diligently tapping his screen, and something marvelous came over the speakers. A light, airy, bassy, sound that touched Ned in the most wonderful way. He recognized this song, and it seemed like everyone in the world loved Gorillaz. He was aware that Conor had moved behind him at some point, and lifted his wrists to move his arms in time with the music. He allowed his partner to sway them into another world, knowing that to suppress his joy would be an insult to the human experience. Conor was perfect. This _night_ was perfect.

Wally got up and pulled Darcy up off the floor, and the two of them began to dance, singing along to the words. You could call it dancing, but really they were just swinging breezily to the music that wasn’t fast enough to actually dance to. 

 

_Oh joy's arise_

_The sun has come again to hold you_

_Sailing out the doldrums of the whole week_

_The polyphonic prairies here, it's all around you_

_It's all around you, out here_

 

Darcy and Wally were effectively slow dancing in the middle of the room, smiling like idiots until the beat dropped. At that moment they picked up the pace, holding each other’s hands and swinging like small children.

 

_Little memories, marching on_

_Your little feet, working the machine_

_Will it spin, will it soar_

_My little dream, working the machine_

 

Victor looked on at all of them with the utmost fondness that spread all the way to Ned’s heart. 

 

Sometime later, (good _God_ , this high might last forever) Ned had crawled over to a dusty mirror that was hidden in the corner of the room. When he caught sight of it, it told him that he needed to take a look into the portal of self awareness. He stared wide-eyed and contemplatively into the glass, studying his features like he’d never seen himself before. His hair was brown to finally match his eyebrows, and the way browline, cheekbones and chin looked together was so fucking strange. His ears stuck out in the way they always had and his eyes were blue, and it felt like he was staring at a stranger that copied all of his movements. Spooky. In his eyes, he wasn’t incredibly attractive; but zapping out into space like this, it didn’t matter. Who cared about something as insignificant as personal beauty when he lived a life like this? His heart was beating like it should’ve been and he was in near perfect health, what more could he ask for?

Looking at his friends behind him in the reflection, he noticed that Victor had likely passed out on the desk and Darcy appeared to be on his way into unconsciousness as well. Conor materialized behind him looking like an angel sent down directly from heaven and wrapped his arms around his chest, placing a soft kiss on the back of his neck.

“How you holdin’ up, love?”

Ned hummed, falling into Conor’s embrace. “So good. I think the others might wake up here in the morning, though.” 

His boyfriend chuckled, and they gazed into each other’s eyes through the mirror. “You might be right about that. I should rouse Lynch before he falls asleep to get the rest outta here. I dunno how I feel about Victor sleeping on that desk all night.”

“Yeah.” Ned sighed. “That doesn’t sound too cozy.”

“But after that we can go back to the room and chill out there. Sound okay to you?”

“Totally.” He had the absolute _best fella on the whole damn planet._

A few minutes after their exchange, Ned watched Darcy shake Victor back to the land of the living as best he could. “V, it’s time to get up and go to bed.”

“I already went to bed.”

“Not here, you didn’t. You’ll thank me in the morning.” He stood behind the guy and pushed on his shoulders to prop him up. Somehow, Wally was still wide awake, but all he managed to do was pull on Victor’s wrists to no avail.

 

Eventually, though, the puppies successfully moved out for the night, leaving all of their shit strewn around the room. They slowly hauled their asses down the stairs and out into the frigid night, more or less coming down at last. Darcy volunteered to lead Victor back to his dorm with his arm around his torso and the latter’s arm slung around his shoulder, and the group parted ways for the evening.

When Ned and Conor got back to their own room with the door latched behind them, Ned was pleasantly riding out the last few waves of his spiritual journey. He glanced at the clock and Jesus Christ, how was it three in the morning? Sleep schedules are pointless in the grand scheme of things, so who cares? 

Conor pulled off his shirt and began to undress, something that Ned hadn’t even considered a possibility. He took off his own clothes from the day and wondered how people even came up with the idea of pyjamas. He turned around to find Conor pulling Ned’s mattress off the frame and onto the floor.

“And what do you think you’re doing?”

Conor stepped forward and took him by the waist. “I’m not tired yet. But I guess I shouldn’t make assumptions.”

Ned beamed up at him, feeling lighter than air for the thousandth time that night. He was still too high to sleep and his body had been screaming for Conor throughout the entire evening, regardless. He captured Conor’s mouth with his own, reveling in how it sent volts of comfort, pleasure, and euphoria rolling through his nervous system. “I’m not complaining.” He whispered.

 

He had the best partner, the best friends, and the best night dancing on his fingertips right now, and nothing in the expanse of the universe could take that away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realize that I always forget to credit the songs I reference in this fic, but the one Conor plays is Revolving Doors by Gorillaz, and the one they listen to when they're high out of their minds is Empire Ants. Both beautiful songs that I've been in love with for years.
> 
> Leave a comment if you got a notification for this chapter; I always reread your feedback to get myself motivated and I love hearing from you <3
> 
> (My unrelated tumblr is @Blapblaps, but I always respond to messages over there.)


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Darcy, what are you so afraid of?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! So this chapter is far different from the rest, because I've become one of those authors that makes an original character one of the main characters. Everything about the original plot of the movie has left the building, and I got too carried away to be sorry. You don't HAVE to read this one, since it has very little to do with Ned and Conor's relationship, but I'm really proud of how it turned out.
> 
> Basically, it's my party and I'll write angst about my OC and make myself cry if I want to.
> 
> (Content Warning: This is probably the darkest chapter so far, and includes angst, mentions of abuse, depression, mild panic attacks, and vomit at the end. Sorry.)

 

Darcy Andrew Lynch. Sixteen. Scorpio. 4.0 GPA and societal malcontent with a drive for success that must’ve been written into his DNA. Privately known for keeping his head down in every area that wouldn’t help him reach his current life goal: to get the fuck out of this place.

If he didn’t have this goal, this shimmering light at the end of the tunnel, he wouldn’t know what on Earth it was that he’d have to look forward to. Darcy lived in a glass box; glass that was clouded with judgement and seemed to be getting smaller with every day that passed. Ned wasn’t the only one that felt trapped at school, and who could blame him? Before they started hanging out as a group, it felt like every day, every class, every asinine homework assignment felt exactly the same. Darcy thought that if he wasn’t a witness to the seasons physically changing, he’d think that he was stuck in a time loop, living the same week over and over again until he inevitably shattered into dust.

He was sure that every student at Woodhill felt this way, even if it was for different reasons. Maybe some of them wanted to attempt a career in professional rugby, others wanted to get away from bullies or even just talk a girl for once, or maybe some just wanted to be old enough to drink without having to sneak around it, who could be sure. At the top of his own list of problems, Darcy was struggling with the fact that he didn’t even know what future he was striving for. He had no clear mission, no definitive fantasy that he could reach and say to himself, “Yes, this is it. I’ve made it.’” The only thing that was certain of was the path he had to walk to reach whatever dream he had. All he could do was ensure that any door he wanted to open was unlocked for him, and the only way he could achieve this was via his grade point average. 

If Darcy could be at the top of his game in every subject, there couldn’t be anything to stop him from figuring out what exactly his dream was. He had to reach perfection in the only area that was available to him: academia. Growing up, he was always that kid who did his homework, aced every test, and had the highest marks in his class. Even if his mum didn’t hold such pride in success, he’d always naturally been this way; it must be genetic. So with all of his focus on studies and doing the best he could from the moment he started school, he never really paid that much attention to girls, or anyone for that matter. 

Sure, he’d had a couple friends here and there growing up, but through the years, most kids thought he was too boring to befriend and the smart ones were too irritating to actually spend any time with. He knew that he could’ve had more friends if he hadn’t been so obsessive about schoolwork; joined the other kids who played video games at their houses after school or gone swimming in the summer, but children could always sense it if something was different about you, and Darcy had this idea that he had something to hide. He didn’t know what it was, but it kept him at a safe distance from his classmates.

He didn’t think he was particularly lonely growing up, and it became all the more true as he continued to learn about Ned. What he’d gone through over the course of his whole life? That was loneliness. That was isolation, and Darcy knew that he was lucky enough to never truly know what that felt like. He had his mum, and she had always been plenty. 

When he was twelve, he decided to try his hand at group activity, and joined his school’s rugby team. As a small child, he’d sit at a distance from his father in front of the television, wondering what the only positive thing he’d get so worked up about was, and his mum encouraged him to find a reason to get out of the house. Darcy had a naturally athletic build and the coach had no reason not to take him in at the time. And just like everything else he did, he put all of his effort into the sport, quickly learning to pull off complicated plays and pushing his body to its limits. 

He’d failed at making any real friends on the team however; the other boys were so simple minded and though he didn’t know what it was exactly that he looked for in them, he couldn’t find it. They bullied weaker players on the team, and they tried to bully him, too, but with his high skill and naturally sharp tongue, they soon realized that he wasn’t worth the effort. He quickly decided that he hated bullies. 

Nevertheless, he went to Woodhill College, with the hopes that maybe it had just been those boys specifically that he couldn’t get along with, and he could still find his passion on a team. And as soon as the grand idiot known as Weasel opened his mouth, Darcy knew that it had all been for nothing. All of these guys were the same, just a little bit older and far more aggressive. He wasn’t a overly competitive person, and if he hadn’t quit when he did, that facet of his personality would’ve been his downfall. 

The only thing about his secondary school experience that was worth this miscalculation, the only positive outcome that popped his anti-social bubble were the dearest group of ragtag friends he managed to pull from the shadows. Although to be honest, he didn’t have much choice in the matter. He was blindsided, dragged into a prank against the coach who deserved every grain of salt that invaded his space, and after that fateful whiskey-filled morning, the group hadn’t been able to stop hanging out since. Unplanned, unforeseen, undeniable friendship burst through the front door of his life, and he really couldn’t be more grateful for it.

Ned was the first person Darcy had actually been able to have a real conversation with, and they could talk about anything they wanted to. They talked about everything and nothing, or sometimes they’d just sit together in comfortable silence, working on their studies or reading in a shared space. There were so many things that he loved about Ned, but one of them is that he never said a word about how boring Darcy was. He knew it was true, and he knew that his friends knew that it was true, but he was only as boring as his life was. Maybe it’s because Ned understood what it was like to have your personality turned against you, and one misfit to another, they accepted each other in all the ways they felt rejected. Neither of them had the freedom to embrace who they truly were for fear of being assaulted or shamed beyond repair, and they formed a bond in their shared suffering. It didn’t matter that Ned was gay and Darcy didn’t know what the fuck he was; he should’ve known that he’d find one of his closest friends in someone that everyone seemed to dislike on first sight. 

Ned was someone to be truly admired after everything he’d gone through. He was smart and strong, resilient enough in his wholeness to take on life alone, and Darcy believed there wasn’t anything his friend couldn’t do. Over the break, they’d gotten to know each other in a way that he’d never experienced before; they talked about everything, from their parents, their dreams at night, their vague hopes for the future, to their favorite foods as kids. In short, Darcy appreciated Ned Roche more than he could find it in himself to admit.

  
Another soul that he couldn’t ignore even if he wanted to was his eternally energetic roommate. Wally was a force of nature; a loud, boisterous, enthusiastic beam of light that stepped into his heart almost as soon as he walked through the door of their dorm. He was just as annoying as he was wonderful, yeah, especially when Wally kept him up until three in the morning sometimes, talking about the most random shit or just talking in his sleep, but goddamn if that kid didn’t make him laugh so hard he worried about his sides splitting. Wally was one of those rare people that didn’t let Darcy’s shrewdness bother him; he just crushed those barriers like they were made of glass, smiling the whole time. He knew that from an outside perspective, it probably seemed like he couldn’t stand the guy most of the time, but he didn’t feel the need to reaffirm their relationship. Fucking with each other was just their language of love, something else that he didn’t need to prove.

If Darcy was a block of ice, then Wally was a raging fire. And he was okay with it. 

He’d also ended up breaking down a few of Wally’s barriers as well. He knew that he talked up as much space as he could to make up for living in a house full of people to be cared for, he knew about his secret feelings of inadequacy and his need to prove himself, and he knew that he wanted to go into rugby professionally to show his parents that his tuition was money well spent. He was a sweet kid who, for some reason, thought he had so much to make up for.

 

During his time of slowly learning about the inner workings of his mind, it was only natural that he learned about Wally’s nightmares as well. 

He didn’t get them very often, but the first time Darcy had woken up in the middle of the night to rapid breathing and violent rustling of the sheets next to him, he’d only looked on in horror for a second before rushing to wake him up. It was terrifying, to say the least. His mum used to get nightmares for a while after they left his dad, but it was nothing like that. He could see the sheen of sweat covering Wally’s skin, tears streaming down his face with his eyes shut tight, and Darcy’s instincts kicked in before he could really consider what he should do. 

He’d leapt out of bed, putting one hand on Wally’s shoulder and the other over one of his clenched fists, and shook him firmly enough to wake up him up without increasing his panic. “Wally. Wally, wake up.” He repeated this softly like a mantra until his roommate finally opened his eyes, looking like he didn’t know where he was. “Wally, it’s me, Darcy, I’m here. You’re at school, and you’re okay. You’re okay.” He knew he needed to keep his words simple and steady, and continued for as long as it took until Wally recognized him, apologizing as soon as his breathing slowed. 

The next morning, he didn’t ask what he dreamt about. He knew that Wally would tell him if he wanted him to know.

It happened again a couple weeks later, but Darcy hadn’t realized it until he felt an extra weight sinking onto his bed behind him, trembling and tentative. “Hm? What’s goin’ on?” He’d mumbled through his grogginess in the dark, unsure if this was actually a dream or not. 

Wally stilled, but Darcy could hear the shallow breaths shaking in his chest. “Sorry I woke you up, I- sorry. It’s just- back at home, I’d always have someone to sleep with after a nightmare. I can’t get any sleep after one and…is it okay if I just bunk with you tonight?”

Darcy felt his heart soften at these words. He shifted forward, closer to the wall to give him more space. “Sure thing, buddy.”

They developed an unspoken habit after that. Wally would climb into his bed after a nightmare and Darcy would move over without a word, and if they end up tangled up together in the morning, Wally wrapped around him like the cuddler he was sure to be, well, it wasn’t hurting anybody.

 

Darcy never asked about the nightmares in the days following, and he’d never tell anyone else.

 

* * *

 

It was a regular night on one of many painstakingly regular days in the early moments of February, and Darcy was camping out upstairs in an attempt to escape any distractions from his homework. Mostly the distraction that was the Casio Rapman; he swore that he was going to throw it out the windows one of these days. 

Ever since he and Ned had their conversation about Darcy’s “type,” and he’d blurted out the sudden epiphany that he probably wasn’t straight, Darcy had to come to terms with the new dilemma that was stealing his attention: the swarm of thoughts and emotions that accompanied constant confusion. He wasn’t lucky enough to be confident in his sexuality from the beginning; he knew that it would be something discovered only through experience, and unfortunately, he was trapped in a place where that kind of thing was impossible. There weren’t any girls to crush on, and the only romantic experimentation he’d ever had was kissing a girl who’d confessed to him on the playground in primary school just to know what it was like. 

He never spoke to her again after that, and he still felt bad about it. 

If he’d been tempted to let his gaze linger a little longer at any of the guys around school (which, okay, he was,) he knew better than that. Social exile was such a primitive concept, but terrifying all the same. But after Ned and Conor got together, and hearing about how they’d gotten closer through Ned’s retellings, it was like a light turned on in a dark corner of his mind after years of neglect. This revelation only intensified as the two of them became more openly intimate around the group, and despite his best intentions, his chest felt like it was caving in whenever they kissed in front of them. All of a sudden his mind came to the realization of, “Oh yeah, people can be in romantic relationships; _guys_ can be in romantic relationships.” 

This idea confused him almost more than anything else. 

He’d never considered anything so intimate to be something he actually wanted. Somehow, because he was either too young or too trapped, he never let himself wish for anything like that. It’s not like he wasn’t interested in sex, he definitely was, but any thought into that territory without something or _someone_ specific to focus on just got chalked up to teenage hormones and prayers that no one walked into the communal showers (which were a travesty, by the way.) The feeling of jealousy was foreign to him, but he knew that that wasn’t the right word to describe it; he was genuinely happy for them. But sometimes he saw the way they’d look at each other in that sickenly sweet way and couldn’t help but think, _"_ _I want that.”_

What did people even like about each other in the first place? What was there to even like about _him?_ He was dull, scared to let himself enjoy any one thing too much, and only ever focused on his goals. He’d never thought about being someone that others could be attracted to; it simply never crossed his mind until now, and he was beginning to think there was something wrong with him because of it. 

 

The evening after their night of gummy bear induced madness, he decided to ask Ned about it. He trekked to his and Conor’s room, desperate for any answer to the storm of emotions tumbling around his head, and pulled him out of his boyfriend’s company with a simple explanation.

“You can’t ever _only_ hang out with your boyfriend, you know. People need variety.”

As if he knew anything about that.

So they sat on the edge of the empty pool, Darcy almost regretting his decision to talk outside in the middle of winter, but he’d needed an excuse to breathe real air and Ned wanted an excuse to smoke. 

He didn’t bother with small talk; they were far beyond that. “Did you ever like anyone before Conor?”

Ned hummed. “Kinda, but not like this. Little crushes on people that I didn’t even know.” He didn’t ask why, and Darcy guessed that he’d picked up on his train of thought.

“What is it that you like about him?” Darcy laid on the concrete with his feet hanging over the edge; it didn’t help with the cold in the slightest, but it kept his mind clear and he could see the stars perfectly in this part of the country.

“Just about everything.”

“Really? _Everything?”_ Darcy knew the disbelief in his voice was obvious, but he couldn’t wrap his head around the concept that you could really like everything about another person.

“Okay, well, not _everything_ exactly. He gets moody more often than you’d think, and when he does that he hardly speaks a word; it takes him forever to actually talk about the shit that bothers him. And he uses my toothbrush sometimes and that’s something I’ll never understand. He steals the blankets and his toenails are sharp as knives, but other than that, yeah. Pretty much everything.”

 Darcy nodded up at the sky, and Ned took to cue to continue. 

“Like, Conor’s honest. Yeah, he says he doesn’t want to ‘bother me with his problems’ sometimes, but he doesn’t lie to me.” He leaned over, looking into the empty pool with his elbows on his knees. 

“He makes me feel safe and accepted, and so do you guys, but I dunno. It’s different with him. I didn’t know I needed that until we met. Sometimes it feels like I’m having a heart attack in the best way when he says or does certain things, and he’s so transparent that it’s almost embarrassing.” He lowered his voice, and Darcy had to sit back up to hear him. “He was the first person that I met who didn’t listen to what the others said about me. He decided to make his own opinion.”

Darcy couldn’t see his face in the dark, but he could hear the smile in his voice. Perhaps he was finally beginning to understand. Maybe it isn’t about certain things that you like about someone, but what they can do for you that others can’t. Possibly. But was there anything about Darcy that he could ever give to someone else? He didn’t want to ask flat-out, his apprehension to give away too much about himself overpowered him and influenced his next question.

“Did you ever think about what…what it is about you that other people could like?”

Ned laughed, but there was no humor in it. “Well, it’s kinda tricky when people spend all their time telling you all the things they hate about you, so not really. I decided to be different so I _wouldn’t_ care what others think of me, ya know?”

Darcy felt a pang of sympathy, glad that his friend had finally found some good in his life. “Yeah, I gotcha.”

“Have you asked Wally any of this? He’s the one with a long-term girlfriend.”

He scoffed. “Yeah, but he’s sort of a hopeless romantic. He’s less articulate about his feelings and more like, ‘Oh, I’ll love Sarah ‘till the day I die,’ kinda thing.”

Ned let out a genuine laugh at this. “That definitely sounds like him.”

 

Darcy wasn’t getting anywhere with his studies on this particularly regular night. His thoughts kept drifting to the last piece of his puzzle of confusion:

Victor Hines. 

When Darcy first met Victor, he thought absolutely nothing of him. He was just another dude on the rugby team that followed Weasel around, and even if he was captain of the team, he was nothing special. Darcy knew that he was probably more intelligent than he let on and he always had some kind of…presence about him, but how smart could someone be to be friends with a guy like Wesley? Getting shitfaced at five in the morning didn’t help Darcy’s first real impression of him, either. 

He’d never considered the possibility of them being friends; Victor was too popular, too goofy, too happy. 

But as they all began to hang out as a group more regularly, especially after the whole head slamming thing against Ned, Darcy realized that there was something more to the guy. When that happened, Victor showed his true colors; he cared about his friends enough to really cut that shit out of his life, and ever since then, he continued to show his affection for them. Victor was the kind of person who demanded that they all get each other gifts for Christmas, visited Ned on New Year’s Eve so he wouldn’t be alone, stood behind Conor when he came out to the team, and trusted them with the secret of his parents that no other student in the whole school knew. 

Victor was an undeniably good person, and Darcy was grateful for his friendship as much as everyone else. 

So after Ned and Darcy admired their handsome friend from a distance on the field, it only made sense for Darcy to pay just a little more attention to him in the following weeks, purely for scientific purposes.

He began to notice little things about him throughout their days together, things that he was surprised he didn’t think about before, considering the fact that they spent _literally_ every day in each other’s company. Subtly and not too closely, lest Victor pick up on the extra attention, Darcy began to study him in a way that he really hoped wasn’t too creepy.

He picked up on a few of Victor’s habits, like how his eyes lit up and licked his lips before he said something snarky, or the way he always put a hand to his chest when he laughed particularly hard, (Darcy caught himself looking away whenever that magical kind of laughter was a response to something he’d said; knowing he could make Victor laugh like that was suddenly becoming too much) or how his eyes glaze over and he’d drum his fingers against whatever surface when he spaced out. The worst thing he’d seen so far happened whenever he or one of the other boys gave Darcy shit for being a smartass, and Victor would smile and give him a little wink and his heart certainly did _not_ seize up during moments like those.

Maybe studying Victor wasn’t the best idea, because out of nowhere he’d lie awake in the middle of the night, watching images of his dark eyes and different smiles for different things flash in his mind under the cover of darkness, just to spite him. Fine, even if Victor was the hottest guy in school, had a heart of gold and a smirk that could make anyone weak, and Darcy had finally figured out that he wasn’t _straight_ per-say, it wasn’t like he was crushing on him or anything. He really wasn’t. He couldn’t afford to when Victor was the kind of psychic who could predict the next thunderstorm, let alone have no trouble figuring out if one of his friends developed feelings for him. Yes, Darcy believed in psychics, and Victor Hines was the most intuitive one he’d ever seen.

How was anyone supposed to know when they liked someone if they’d never done it before, anyway?

 

And as though even the mere act of simply _thinking_ about this kid had the power to summon him from a thousand meters away, (either that or God really just wanted to tell Darcy to go fuck himself,) he was thrust out of the depths of his mind when Victor’s head appeared in the doorway, looking as victorious as usual.

“Thought I might find you hiding up here.” He smiled at him in the same way he always did, like he just received all the money in the world, and Darcy tried not to feel too special.

He remembered that his textbook was still sitting untouched in his lap, and he used it to his advantage, pretending like he’d just been rudely interrupted. He looked back down, silently hoping that Victor would leave him be. What a joke.

“What’s that look for?”

“The look of realization that your company in inescapable. What’s up?”

Victor took this as an invitation to stride into the room and sit down next to him, his back leaning against the wall. Darcy kept his eyes on his long forgotten notes, hoping that none of his recent introspection showed on his face. It shouldn’t look too suspicious; his head was always buried in his work no matter what day it was.

“Ned, Conor, and I have been delegating plans for Edwin’s birthday, and after way too much compromise, I’m here to spread the word.”

Of course he’d be planning yet another celebration, and Darcy almost shivered at the thought of what kind of animal he’d become once he started University. He wondered if they’d even be friends after Victor graduated. “Compromise?”

“Long story short, he’ll let us take him out to town if we promise not to give him any extra presents or do anything too extravagant. All he wants is dinner not provided by kitchen staff and a day off campus.” He was still avoiding Victor’s eyes, but he’d seen that grin enough to hear it in his voice.

“That sounds about right. It’s this weekend, yeah? Why’d you wait so long to start planning? Don’t tell me you forgot.” Darcy had been so caught up in his own inner turmoil lately that he hadn’t considered what to get Ned for his seventeenth; winter birthdays could be such a pain, being so close to the holidays.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Victor put a hand to his chest in mock offense. “Am I a joke to you? I’ve known for ages; I’m just nice enough to wait to bring it up. Don’t think you can expect the same for me in June though, cause I’m goin’ all out.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Speaking of which,” Victor grabbed the textbook and notes from his legs and threw it unceremoniously across the room, startling Darcy into truly facing him for the first time since his arrival. He inched forward across the floor to look at him directly. “When’s your birthday?”

Darcy’s heart only skipped a couple beats out of the sheer rudeness of this gesture, not at all because of the brown eyes boring into his. That book was beat up enough, and now the pages would be bent. 

“It was in November.” He kept his eyes on Victor’s, because it would be weird if he didn’t, right?

“What? And you didn’t tell anybody?” Victor looked surprised, as though Darcy was one of those people who made a spectacle out of everything.

“It was before we started hanging out, and it’s not a big deal.”

“Right,” Victor drew out the word, tongue darting out between his lips in a way that Darcy was sure something arrogant was on its way.

“I just thought you’d _love_ the attention.”

Before Darcy could fall into the deep dark pit of whatever that could possibly mean, he said, “I was actually going somewhere with my AP chemistry notes before you barged in, ya know. You’re in advanced classes too, aren’t you? How come I never catch _you_ doing any homework?”

Victor grinned like he just caught him in a lie and his stomach tightened. “I thought you could use a break.” He pulled a tiny jar out from his pocket and held it up, encasing two of the little magical gummy bears and effectively diverting the attention away from his study habits. “Wanna split one with me?”

Darcy narrowed his eyes, forever suspicious of this troublemaker. “I know for a fact you already ate one of yours. You know, _three_ days ago?”

The blond shrugged, looking devilish. “I may or may not have arm wrestled Wally for one of his.” He gave the jar a little shake. “Whaddaya say, Lynch?”

“What for? You-” _You know you’d have more fun with any of the others._ “Wouldn’t you wanna space it out more?”

“Maybe I just wanna space out in the first place. We never hang out one on one, and you really don’t have to be so suspicious all the time, mate.”

Getting high with Victor sounded less like a homework break and more like a homework full-stop, but Darcy was running out of excuses to say no. He finally averted his eyes, desperate for anything else in the room to look at. Victor was far too close for comfort. “Can you blame me? All you do is psychoanalyze everybody; how do I know you’re not trying to figure me out or something?”

Victor got that look in his eyes, the one like he’d just learned another’s biggest secret, a look that he really needed to stop or else Darcy was going to lose it. “Do you have something for me to figure out?”

The battle was lost. There was no point in trying anymore, even though he couldn’t decipher what it was that he was trying to avoid so much. Victor might’ve been trying to learn _something_ about him, something that he really wasn’t willing to give up. 

He swiped the jar from Victor’s grip, screwed off the lid, and bit the head off one of the poor red bears. “Nope.”

 

Forty-five minutes later, Darcy was enveloped in the same floating feeling as the one from not even a week before. He liked being high; it made everything slow and soft and shimmery, and the pressure he constantly felt was replaced with a warm, comforting weight, like a down blanket in the winter. 

He and Victor were facing each other for some reason, their conversation before the hit long since abandoned. The other boy leaned in just a few inches closer, openly staring at Darcy like he was some kind of intricate painting. It took a couple moments for his eyes to adjust to the proximity between them, and it suddenly hit him that it didn’t seem like Victor planned on moving to his usual spot on his desk. It was the first time they’d been within eye-level of each other in the HQ.

“Why?”

Victor beamed like the idiot he was. “Why what?”

“Why are you so close to me right now?”

“You didn’t mind when you and Wally were waltzing around the room the other night.”

Darcy felt a heat creeping up his neck. “That’s different, he’s my best friend. You’re…an enigma.”

“Am I?” Victor’s eyes were nearly half closed, still staring straight into his soul. It was almost too much, but his brain was somewhere else, leaving him unsure of what to do. His voice was so low that Darcy almost forgot that he needed to respond if he was going to act like he knew what the hell was going on. Which he very much did not.

“Yeah, you’re fuckin’ weird.”

“I dunno what you’re talking about, I’m an open book!”

Darcy’s mind and body finally kicked into gear enough to raise a hand and pushed his friend away, taking a deep breath and hating himself for immediately missing the closeness. This was so stupid. “I don’t know, dude, I don’t have the brain capacity to explain it.”

“Play a game with me.”

“The hell?”

Victor bounced a little in his spot. God, he was such a child sometimes. “We’ll take turns asking each other questions, it’ll be fun.”

“I thought you weren’t gonna psychoanalyze me.”

“I said no such thing, and I, as a good friend, am determined to get to know my friends. You’re just being difficult.”

Why was he doing this? Why was what he already knew not good enough? “I promise, there’s nothing special about me to know.” There really wasn’t; maybe if there was, he’d have an idea of what on earth he was doing.

Victor looked up at the ceiling and sighed, shaking his head like he was having a conversation with some kind of further entity. “Everyone’s special, Darce, even you. Here, we can turn our backs to each other so you feel less _exposed_.”

Before Darcy could argue, Victor was already spinning in place, completely turned away from him at a hundred and eighty degrees. Darcy sighed, feeling all of the fight drain out of his body and he turned around to face the other wall.

“Rules of the game is this: you can only ask one question at a time, and you get three passes. But if you pass, you _have_ to answer the next question, got it?”

“That sounds…counterintuitive.” Darcy just couldn’t figure out how. All logical reasoning left his brain when Victor leaned back, pressing his back against his own. He was warm, radiating heat, and Darcy hated it.

“Whatever, I’ll go first. What’s your favorite color?”

Darcy scoffed. He knew that it was only a matter of time before the questions got more invasive. “Purple. What’s yours?”

“Red,” Said the joyous voice behind him. “But you gotta ask new questions, alright? You can’t just repeat the ones already asked.”

“I don’t remember you stating that in the rules.”

“It’s a new one.”

“Whatever. Your turn.”

Victor seemed to think for a moment. “Favorite flavor.”

“Of what?”

“Of everything! We all have one.”

“Fine then, cherry. Do you have a pet?”

“Yeah, we have a dog. Her name’s Luna.”

“Basic.”

“Hey, it’s cool and mysterious! What did you dream about last night?”

“I can’t remember, probably a stress dream. What did you wanna be when you were little?”

“A fireman.”

“Basic!”

“You’re so rude, shitting all over my childhood dreams like that. What are you stressed about?”

“Everything.” It was true, but the high and the comfort of Victor behind him made it seem like all of his pressures were just a bad dream, after all. “What are you going to Uni for? You said you weren’t gonna go into rugby professionally.”

“Yeah, I love it, but I don’t know if I can keep it up like that. I like leadership, but not in a dictator kinda way, so I think I wanna be a teacher.”

“For what year?”

“Ah, it’s my turn, Darce.” What a prick. “Tell me about your first kiss.”

It wasn’t technically a question, but he told Victor about the girl he’d kissed when he was eight and then subsequently ghosted. He couldn’t help his own smile when he felt Victor shaking with laughter. “How savage! Who knew you were such a heartbreaker?”

“Shut up, I’m sure she’s long since gotten over it. Tell me about your _last_ kiss.”

“Okay, but it’s not a pretty story. It was at the spring dance in my second year. Someone decided to spike the punch and I made out with this girl named Robin, who I guess was way more hammered than I thought, because she turned around and threw up on a water fountain. Not my best moment.”

Darcy could hardly speak; he was too busy trying to stifle his laughter, holding it in his chest until it could only escape past his mouth. He reeled back, leaning his head all the way on Victor’s shoulder against his better judgement and cackled at the ceiling, completely unable to contain it any longer. 

“You laughin’ at me, punk?” He could feel Victor’s own chuckles behind him, though.

“Yes!” Darcy cried, knowing it was impossible to control. “That’s the funniest shit I’ve heard all day.”

“Yeah, I didn’t see her again after that. Tell me about _your_ last kiss, then!”

Once Darcy’s mirth had calmed down to a more manageable volume, he wiped his eyes. He couldn’t bear to take his head off of Victor’s shoulder, and settled for staring at the ceiling instead. “My first kiss was my last, man.”

“Really? No young love?” How could Victor act so surprised by this?

“I think you asking that goes against the rules, but nope.” He realized that it was his turn, and searched his mind for a question.

“What’s your biggest fear?”

Victor was silent for a few moments, and in his haze, Darcy wondered if he even heard it. He could feel Victor’s slow breathing against his back and on his neck, and it could’ve lulled him to sleep if he was silent any longer.

“The people I love being unhappy, and not being able to do anything about it.”

Darcy’s lungs seemed to fill with an affection he had no control over. He’d expected an answer like drowning or something, not to be reminded of what a relentlessly good person Victor could be. He didn’t deserve friendship like this.

Victor seemed to take his silence as its own kind of reply. “Are you gay?”

Must every conversation come to this? He didn’t want to be scrutinized, but if everyone was going to ask him the same thing at one point, why couldn’t it be anything else? He groaned in exasperation, finally lifting his head off of Victor’s shoulder.

“Probably. But I’m so sick of everyone asking me that.”

“Sorry about that.”

He wanted to ask Victor the same thing, if he was being perfectly honest. But the thought of speaking those words made something close up inside him, and he knew with an ice cold heart that he knew the answer. Victor was straight, no doubt about it. “What do you think about death?”

“Oh, _pass,_ man! I’m so not in the headspace for that kinda discussion.” Victor laughed his usual light laughter, and it sounded like a song bubbling up from his lips. The tension was broken.

“Tell me about your first crush.”

“Pass.” The reasons were obvious, even if he was the only one who knew. He’d gladly accept any question that befell him after that. 

“So mysterious. You can ask me whatever you like now, and I gotta answer.” Damn, what was there about Victor Hines that he was dying to know? All this power was overwhelming, and it took him a while to come up with an appropriate question. 

“What’s something you regret?”

Victor seemed to debate this for only a second. “Not getting to know all of you sooner.”

Darcy felt his heart fall, but he didn’t know why. Was this true? 

“Seriously?”

“Why do you think I’m here? You’re the most fun I’ve ever had, and I barely know you at all. After we started hangin’ out, I realized that Wesley and them just made me feel like garbage. Don’t think you’re the only one who’s felt lonely here.”

Darcy tensed up on instinct. How? How could he know that? Was it because everyone felt like this, in their own way? How could be so easily seen? The thought that Victor could apparently see through him like he was made of glass made him feel wonderful, and it scared him more than he could’ve imagined.

“It sucks that I’ll be graduating this year, sometimes I forget how young you are. I’m gonna miss you.”

He knew that he wasn’t talking about just Darcy specifically, but all of them as a group. Still, he couldn’t help how closed off his body felt in that moment, and the thought that seemed to slap him in the face.

_Don’t make me feel so special._

“I’m gonna ask you a question now, and remember, you can’t pass on this one.” 

Darcy leaned forward, putting his elbows on his knees that he’d drawn up to his chest at some point. He didn’t want to be looked at, but he couldn’t bear to leave. “Go for it.”

Victor was so quiet, and Darcy counted the seconds until he heard him speak again.

“Darcy, what are you so afraid of?”

His heart immediately picked up it’s pace. He began to feel dizzy, as though Victor had just asked him to jump out the window, and took a few deep breaths to calm himself down. Why were there so many things he couldn’t stand the thought of people knowing? He never wanted the attention, but he knew Victor could probably hear his heart rate. When had he moved away? He missed Victor’s presence, and that only served to show him how truly _fucked_ he was. 

“I’m afraid of failure. I’m afraid of being seen.”

“Why?”

It was against the rules to ask more than one question at a time, but Darcy felt too shaken to care. Why did Victor have this power, and why couldn’t he escape how safe he felt? Safe, and yet completely exposed. 

“Because I overthink things. If people see what I am, if they see my flaws, then they’ll know that I’m not…perfect. I want to be able to do anything, and it’s easier to exceed expectations if they only know all the good shit.”

“Who are they?”

“Everyone, I suppose. Anyone with eyes. I’ve always been so worried that if I let myself slip and get too careless, I could miss a homework assignment. Which could lead to failing a test, possibly leading to spiraling down a rabbit hole of getting left behind in class, thus lowering my grade-point average, failing university applications, being unemployed, forced into selling drugs for a living and disappointing my mum. That’s why I study all the time, and why I’m probably so shit to hang out with. I don’t mean to be such a downer all the time, but I get anxious if I let myself get too…” He didn’t want to say it, but something inside his chest forced the words out of him like wind. 

“Too happy. I don’t wanna be seen and liked, cause then I start worrying that all of you will hate me for it.”

Where was this coming from, and why did he let himself spill all of the fears he’d kept locked up just because Victor _asked?_ Why was he being so weak?

“We could never hate you Darcy. Never. We like you cause you keep us grounded, and I can’t imagine the group without you.”

_Don’t say things like that to me._

Darcy was high as hell and so close to overflowing. He wanted to leave, to get out, to run away from anything and any _one_ that could make him feel so vulnerable. His legs moved on their own, nearly lifting him off the floor to escape to anywhere but here. Somewhere safe, where he could hide and forget this ever happened.

He felt a hand close around his right wrist, causing him to freeze as if he’d been turned to stone. The hand was warm, Victor’s thumb resting softly against his pulse. His head turned to the side, his voice rumbling in Darcy’s ear. They still couldn’t see each other. 

“Darcy, don’t leave yet. Play with me just a little longer.”

Darcy was so gone. His body again reacted faster than his brain could keep up with, and he felt himself settle against Victor’s back without ever deciding to do so. He was somehow even warmer than before, though it was probably his mind playing tricks on him. 

Victor removed his hand, and his wrist felt stone cold. “Ask me something.” Victor said, his voice carrying the same deep tone that made his heart burst.

For the life of him, he couldn’t think of a thing to say. His mouth felt dry and his heart was still beating painfully against his ribs. He thought of a question, but he wouldn’t dare to ask it.

_What is there to possibly like about me?_

“What would you do if you could know everyone’s secrets?”

Victor leaned his head back against Darcy’s and he really wished he wouldn’t. “Damn, I don’t know. I don’t think I’d want to, I don’t think _anyone_ would want to. That’d be way too much power, and I feel like that’d drive you mad.”

“Then how do you already know everything?”

“I don’t know everything, Darce.” 

Thank God. “Yeah, right.”

Victor snorted. “It’s true. What’s your mother’s name?”

“Diana. Do you believe in psychics?”

“Not at all. What’s your father’s name?”

“Joseph.” Victor must’ve sensed the sudden tension in his voice, because he felt his head turn slightly. Darcy kept his eyes on the wall. 

“What’s the biggest lie you ever told?”

“Ooh, that’s a good one. I once told my mums that I didn’t shoplift the same day I did, and I thought I’d gotten away with it until the cops showed up at the door. Scared the everloving shit out of me, I’ll tell ya that.”

Darcy couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped from him. What a rollercoaster of emotions this had become. “Who would’ve thought that a bad boy could get such good grades?”

“Hey, now, it worked. Never did it again and probably never will.” Something in the air changed, and even Darcy could tell there was something about the next question that he really wouldn’t like.

“What does your dad do?” 

Darcy hesitated. Besides talking about everything that he couldn’t stand about himself, he hated any mention of his dad, and he probably forever would.

Maybe it was the high, maybe it was the way his heart seemed to rise and fall over and over again throughout this conversation, or maybe he was just really good at fooling himself, but after a few moments of silence so easily broken, he swore he could hear Victor breathe a _please_ in his ear. 

Whatever it was, it worked. “He sells heroin.”

“What?”

Darcy took a deep breath; he hadn’t even told Wally about this. But if Victor was so dead-set on getting to know who he really was, now was the shining moment, falling deeper into the dark waves of his heart.

“Well, I don’t know about now. He could be dead or in prison, for all I know.”

Victor was silent. He could’ve continued, but the last thing he wanted was to unleash his family secret on someone who didn’t ask for it. He turned his head to the side to find Victor already looking at him through the corner of his eye. They were hardly a centimeter away from each other, but Darcy couldn’t pull himself back. He wondered if they’d ever be this close again, if he’d even be able to handle it after this.

“Ask me if you want to know, Victor.”

“It’s not my turn.”

“I don’t care.”

Five seconds exactly, and his voice was softer than the sound in his chest. 

“Tell me about it, please?”

Darcy turned back around, the sensation of floating swept away any embarrassment he would’ve felt about his face heating up in the moment. He took a deep breath, and all at once he couldn’t see the wall any longer.

 

“My mum took me and left when I was about six, I think. They were never married, so there weren’t any papers to file or anything. She’s amazing, my mum. From the day I was born, she started saving up to get out of his house so we could get a place of our own. I don’t know why they were together in the first place, but she only stuck around cause she couldn’t get support from anywhere else. We never spoke, so I don’t even remember what his voice sounded like. He was always off, selling God knows what kinda shit; it was the only way they could make any money.”

Darcy’s voice had become monotone, one singular note, but he couldn’t help it. It was the only way he could make himself speak the truth into the stillness 

“He didn’t want her to leave, and I remember it took him forever to even let her get a job. She started as an intern at the place she’s still at, and now she’s an executive manager, only going forward. She saved as much as she could without telling him, but I remember one time he found out that she was withholding money from him and…and it was the only time I’ve ever seen him hit her. But she was so strong that she stuck around cause she wanted to be absolutely certain that we could make it without him. It took nearly six years, but one night she packed a bag and took me in her arms, and she booked it when he wasn’t there. I don’t think she left a note or anything, we just bailed.”

Victor was still, solid and warm through his story, and Darcy tried to match their breathing. It calmed him down far more than he wished it did. 

“She didn’t have a car, so we walked the whole way. She didn’t cry once, she just kept looking at me and smiling, telling me that we were almost there. I don’t know how far it was, but it felt like forever. She didn’t tell _anyone_ where we were going, didn’t take a train or call a cab or nothing; she wanted to make sure we wouldn’t be followed. He never did find us, and I don’t feel bad about it. When we got to the apartment, there wasn’t any furniture or anything. We didn’t have any dishes, no food, or even a bed. I remember there was just a comforter on the floor- it was a studio, and a blanket on top of it. I’m glad it was summer, or else we would’ve froze.”

What was it about Victor that made him want to spill every secret he had?

“She sat me down on the blanket as soon as we walked in. She looked me dead in the eyes and said, ‘Listen to me close, Darcy, cause there’s something I want you to remember. You can do anything. Not just because you work hard, or come from the right place or cause you’re lucky, but because you’re _you._ And because I believe in you as much as you believe in me. Do you believe in me?’ I said yes, and fuck, I’ll never forget it. I think I must’ve been born determined, but that really set it up for me.”

He didn’t even know who he was talking to anymore. Victor could’ve left long ago and he wouldn’t have noticed if he hadn’t felt his friend’s thoughtful energy behind him. He’d never said these words out loud before; they’d just lived quietly in his heart, and once they were out, he couldn’t stop them from falling into the small room. 

“My mum is my favorite person in the whole world. It didn’t matter that it took us months to get a bed, a couch, or that the place had rats. She gave everything to me, and I wanna be able to give it all back. So if I’ve never paid attention to the girls that liked me growing up, it wasn’t their fault. I was just being the best I could possibly be in the only way I knew how.”

Victor’s warmth disappeared behind him, and wondered if the story had been too much for him. If he’d finally revealed too much about himself, and made the mistake of unloading all of his deepest fears onto someone who didn’t deserve it. At some point through his retelling, he’d put his head on his knees, subconsciously hiding himself away from the truth he’d so freely given.

“Darcy, look at me.”

He lifted his eyes to find Victor, kneeling in front of him and looking more serious than he’d ever seen him before. His brown eyes were so deep and full of soul, shedding a light into Darcy’s heart that he wasn’t sure he’d ever feel again. Victor was beautiful, and Darcy hated himself for knowing it to be so true.

“You don’t have to hide.” He put a hand over Darcy’s knees, prompting him to lower them, to open himself up in a way he didn’t think he was ready for. He felt too exposed, completely naked while fully dressed. 

“Darcy, I see you. _I see you.”_  

Darcy wouldn’t cry. He couldn’t cry in front of someone who’s support he wasn’t sure he even deserved. What had he done, in sixteen years of trying too hard for absolutely nothing, to earn the sincere look he was being gifted with now? Victor wasn’t moving, he wasn’t leaning forward to get as close as Darcy wanted him to be. He didn’t know what he wanted. He wanted to disappear, he wanted to get so much closer, he wanted to be held, to know that he was important.

“Victor, do you like yourself?”

He wanted to get closer, but he couldn’t. 

He wanted to be touched, but it was impossible.

He wouldn’t cry. _He couldn’t cry in front of him._

He wanted to run, so he stood up and ran.

 

Victor let him leave.

 

* * *

 

He didn’t like the high any more. He wanted the world to stop turning, for his heart to stop breaking, just for a second. He wanted everything and nothing all at the same time. He wanted to stop crying on the grounds, he wanted his feet to stop moving without his permission. He wanted everything to slow down, to stop and let himself want something _more_ for once. He wanted everything Ned and Conor had, he wanted to hold Victor’s face in his hands, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t have any of it. He wasn’t as lucky as them.

And he couldn’t stop hating himself for it.

He wanted to be stronger, unbreakable just like his mother was. What’s the point in wanting something you know you can never have? What’s the point in wanting anything at all, when it made him feel so helpless? So broken by someone he didn’t even know he wanted so much until now?

Victor saw him, and he’d do anything to make him forget it.

Somehow he’d ended up at the door of his and Wally’s room, feeling like he teleported or blacked out. It must’ve been far later than he expected, because his best friend was already fast asleep in the darkness. He acted on instinct, feeling stripped of every wall he’d ever built for himself.

In just a few short hours, Victor had torn him to shreds with his honesty and put him back together with his laughter, and it killed him to realize how much it hurt.

He took off his shoes in a daze and maybe he put his pyjamas on, he wouldn’t remember. For the first time, and hopefully for the last if he could figure out how to stitch himself closed again, Darcy climbed into Wally’s bed just like he’d done with him a number of times he would never count. Wally moved over, probably out of habit, having so many siblings, and only sighed when Darcy wrapped his arms around his middle, breathing in his warmth.

He dreamt of Victor Hine’s eyes that night, seeing more than he’d ever given him permission to see.

 

Darcy prayed he’d never find out.

 

* * *

 

Darcy spent the days leading up to Ned’s birthday wondering if he’d ever feel the same as he did before. He tried to hide it from his friends; hide all of the realizations he’d come to after the night that shattered him, but he knew that he was shit at sweeping all of that pain under the rug. 

He kept his eyes lowered, using his age-old excuse of focusing on his homework, but whenever he caught their eyes, it was obvious. They knew something was up.

He didn’t dare look at Victor.

 

The first epiphany that came crashing down on him the next morning when he woke up in Wally’s unquestioning arms was that he was undeniably crushing on Victor. How ironic. 

Darcy wasn’t straight, obviously, and he’d suddenly developed feelings for the one person who had no reason to reciprocate them. It only proved itself to be truer every day that he spent with the group, even as he was doing everything in his power to avoid all direct contact with him. His laughter still flooded through his ears, making his head spin, and he continued to make Darcy laugh no matter how low he’d fallen. He was still kind, still lively, still determined to help his friends have fun.

Victor was perfect. Way too perfect for him.

This led him to the second revelation he’d had that morning, standing in the shower, still wishing that all of it had been some kind of fever dream: Darcy didn’t like himself. At all.

Everything he could come up with regarding his own personhood just let him down. He wasn’t enjoyable to be around, he wasn’t even half as good looking as the rest of the student body, let alone the subject of his newfound dreams, and he had no real direction for himself. All he had to bring to the metaphorical table was his grades, and really, how far could they take him? God forbid he let them take another toll because of this mess.

If he couldn’t find anything to like within himself, how could he expect another person to do it for him? And more importantly, how could he fix it? He couldn’t just change his personality overnight; he might forever be an insatiable bore that his friends would eventually get tired of, and now he was consumed with the knowledge that he would just have to wait for that day to come.

He was at least a year behind all of his friends. When they graduated, would they forget all about him? Would he just become someone that they used to be friends with in school? His recent lack of interest in their daily conversations weren’t helping him at all, either.

Neither was the reality that one day, Victor would forget all about him, too.

If he knew about his feelings (which was terrifyingly likely,) Darcy would be reduced to a simple kid that had a crush on him in his senior year. Nothing more, nothing less. And in return, what would Victor become to him? They’d likely never see each other again, but until he graduated, how long would it take for him to get over these tumultuous emotions? One day Victor would be nothing but his first crush, and every morning he prayed that he’d wake up with all of these feelings left in the past, where they belonged. 

No such luck.

Victor didn’t bring up that treacherous night, correctly assuming that Darcy never wanted to speak of it again. If he wanted to, Darcy might never know, for he’d been keeping his distance like Victor was the plague, and it had to remain that way until he could learn to compartmentalize this deep sea of guilt.

Victor didn’t deserve this. He didn’t deserve any of Darcy’s pain, any of his regrets. He didn’t deserve to have his secrets unleashed on him that night either, and he’d give anything to be able to turn back time. To do the right thing and get the hell out of that room as soon as things took a turn for the emotional. 

Darcy had to be stronger than this, for everyone’s sake. 

For his health and well-being, he had to learn to live with his feelings, or find a way to distance himself in a way that didn’t feel forced. 

 

For the first two days after what he began to call “the Emotional Gummy Bear Catastrophe,” he’d casually excused himself from their hangout sessions in the room upstairs. He didn’t know what he’d do if he found himself up in that isolated tower again, and he was horrified to think about what emotions would come crashing down on him if he did. He’d skipped out on breakfast, any and all appetite deleting itself entirely from his system, and it took a solid forty-eight hours before Ned let himself into his room on Thursday night, eyes brimming with questions.

Ned closed the door and locked it behind him before planting himself firmly on Darcy’s bed, expression full of resolute worry. 

“What’s going on with you?” He asked. It didn’t sound like an accusation, but Darcy already felt guilty for making one of his best friends fret over him.

“Nothing.” He replied calmly, shifting his features into what he hoped was a reassuring facade.

Ned narrowed his eyes at him. “Bullshit.” 

Darcy narrowed his eyes in return, straightened up, and leaned forward. “Elaborate.” Maybe he could convince Ned that it was all in his head, even though he felt like the worst piece of shit for even trying it.

Ned took the challenge. “Gladly. You’ve been skipping meals, have your nose in your books _way_ more than usual, hardly say a single thing when we do hang out, and have been pretty unreachable for the past two days. _Something_ is going on with you, and I’ll sit here all night until I figure out what it is.”

The charade was over, and before Darcy could wallow in the embarrassment of failing to hide his turbulence away any longer, he decided to be difficult. It was in his nature, after all. “You’ll lock out my roommate if you do that, where is he?”

“In my room with Conor; he’ll be spending the night if you don’t fess up.”

“I doubt he’d mind that.” Darcy looked away, hoping against all odds that Ned would just drop the subject. He couldn’t handle letting himself get carried away like he did with Victor; he never wanted to do something like that ever again.

“Conor would; I swear, he thinks he’ll get insomnia if he doesn’t sleep with me. Listen, I even asked Victor, and all he said was that I should ask you myself.”

Darcy’s stomach dropped at this confession. The fact that his friend would ask his crush what was wrong with him wouldn’t have made him so angry if the crush never existed in the first place. He knew that Victor wouldn’t say a word, but his emotions had been such a tragedy that, though he knew his anger was misplaced, he couldn’t stop himself from throwing it at Ned.

“What the hell would you do that for? And why the _fuck_ is everyone trying to get in my business in the first place? I swear to God, all of you need to get out of my face.” None of it was true; there was nothing to back up his outburst, but Darcy didn’t care. His skin felt raw, like he’d been suffering a sunburn for weeks.

Ned threw it right back at him. “Don’t try that shit with me, Lynch.” 

Darcy froze as though Ned had just hit him. He’d never called him by his last name before.

Ned continued, seizing his silence as an opportunity to continue. “Seriously, man, you need to calm down. I know you’re full of shit, and as someone who’s told you _everything_ that’s gone down between me and Conor, I’m obligated to figure it out. I’ve sent you the links to every sex toy I’ve ever bought on Amazon, which granted, isn’t a lot, but my point still stands. We’re way past secrecy in this friendship; especially when you’re so bad at hiding it.”

Darcy had been utterly defeated. The weight on his chest increased by at least a hundred fold, and he let it tip him over onto the mattress, pressing his face against the pillows, half-hoping it would suffocate him eventually.

“You’re right, I’m sorry.” He said, the sound of his voice muffled against the pillowcases, but he hoped Ned got the message. 

Ned sighed. “It’s fine, just tell me what’s wrong.”

Darcy sat back up, wishing he could tell Ned everything telepathically instead of actually having to speak the words.  “I’m crushing on Victor.” He barely even muttered it, hoping that if he said it quietly enough the gods wouldn’t hear him and dare to make it any worse.

Ned lifted a hand to his ear and turned his head. “I’m sorry, what was that?”

What an asshole, but Darcy would love him forever; and he definitely deserved it. He repeated himself, loudly enough for Ned to hear a foot away but quiet enough to hopefully not permeate through the walls. “Oh my God, I’m crushing on Victor, alright? Jesus.”

“Oh, that’s what I thought you said.” Ned raised an eyebrow and smirked, and suddenly it felt like his problem really was nothing more than teenage drama, instead of the end of life as he knew it.

“Can we be serious for a sec? I’m really fucked up about it.”

Ned’s eyes softened. “I can see that. But did something actually _happen_ within the last few days? It can’t just be the realization that’s got you so messed up.”

Darcy leaned back and pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes, silently wishing that he could block out the disastrous situation. “We got high upstairs on Tuesday night, and I was being _so stupid._ I told him things that I’ve never told anyone else, not even you. He just has this _way_ about him, he made me feel so secure and so vulnerable, and I don’t know what I was thinking. He said shit to me that I didn’t even know that I needed to hear, and it opened up this like…chasm in me, full of really dark shit that I had no clue was there in the first place. It sounds so idiotic, but it was like he trapped me, and all of a sudden I was telling him things I couldn’t even admit to myself. He made me want things that I know are impossible. And he’s so _gorgeous_ Ned, I don’t even know what to do about it.”

He peered through the gaps in his fingers to gauge Ned’s reaction one he finished his outburst, and thankfully he wasn’t laughing. On the contrary, he looked at him like he was the most endearing puppy at the shelter; the small smile on his face made Darcy feel like a child. 

“Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like _that._ ”

“I can’t help it; it’s honestly so cute.”

“Ned.”

His friend in question sighed and lifted his hands to remove Darcy’s own from his face. “Listen, it’s not the end of the world. It’s a good thing that you’ve figured it out and even better that he can make you feel like that. Meeting someone who can break down your walls is awesome, and I should know.”

“It’s so not awesome if he’s straight.” Why did it have to be _him?_

Ned shrugged. “Maybe, but you never know. I’m starting to think that everyone’s at least a little gay. And it’s not like he’d ever resent you for feeling this way; he’s got two mums after all.”

All Darcy wanted was to make him understand how much this was eating away at him. “I know, but it just made me realize that there’s absolutely nothing to like about me. Especially someone like him, who, to put it simply, is way too good for me.”

Ned looked flabbergasted at this. He finally dropped his hands from Darcy’s wrists, looking dreadfully worried, even saddened by his admission. “Darcy…what are you talking about?”

Darcy felt his throat begin to close up, and he willed himself not to tear up. Why did he have to spell everything out all the time? Why couldn’t anyone just leave him be? “I’m talking about the obvious. I feel like I don’t belong with you guys sometimes, because all I do is make things worse. Wally and Victor are right, I don’t know how to have fun and lately…I dunno, it’s just been tough.”

Ned scooted closer towards him, and Darcy distracted himself from his aching heart by wondering why his friends always felt the need to obliterate any personal space he had. “Mate, listen to me. You’re one of the coolest fucking people I’ve ever met. Take it from me. I’ve felt this way my whole life, and it only got better when I started hanging out with you. There are so many, so many things to like about you. You’re my best friend.”

Darcy couldn’t keep it in any longer. The dam behind his eyes burst and there wasn’t a thing he could do to stop it. He didn’t realize how long he felt this terrible about himself, and he had no clue how long it would take to heal a wound that was hidden from even him, but a fraction of the pressure in his lungs had been lifted, nonetheless. He hoped Ned wouldn’t judge him too much for crying. 

“What about Conor?” He asked, attempting to smile his way through the tears.

Ned waved a dismissive hand and rolled his eyes. “Fuck him, he’s my boyfriend and that’s different. Honestly, I’d probably date you if I hadn’t met him first!”

“What?!” A voice sounded through the door, Conor’s no doubt.

Ned whipped his head around so fast that Darcy was worried he’d snap his neck. “Are you serious?! Go to bed!” 

“Sorry not sorry!” Wally’s voice shouted into the barrier. Of course he was there, too.

He turned back to face Darcy, an apology already on his lips, but he was laughing too hard to hear it. Holy shit, all of them knew now, and it was only cause they seemed to care about him enough to eavesdrop for so long. Darcy wrapped one of his dearest friends in the strongest hug he could summon before Ned jumped up to chew out his boyfriend for having his ear pressed against the door.

Ned held him just as tight. “I love you, don’t forget it.”

Just once more, before the moment was over, Darcy allowed himself to feel it just as much. “I love you, too.” Fuck, this was so sappy and he appreciated every minute of it. 

When Ned finally yanked open the door, Conor and Wally just about fell in. Ned hit them both with a glare only an aggravated mother could have. “I can’t believe you! Were you listening the whole time?”

“Did you hear everything?” Darcy asked, wiping away what he hoped were the last of his tears. He hardly got the chance however, because Wally wordlessly almost body-slammed him onto the floor with all the force of a rugby player. He was crying, too, the softie.

“Most of it, sorry.” Conor admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. He did look sorry, but not sorry enough to know what Darcy had fully intended to be his secret until the end of time. Once he peeled his over-emotional roommate off of him, he stormed up to the door, shutting it forcefully behind Conor with one fell swoop.

He fixed him with the most threatening look he could muster through his red puffy eyes, using his slight height over Conor’s to his advantage. “If you tell _anyone_ , especially him, I’m gonna personally break both of your kneecaps.” He spun around to face Wally, hitting him with a similar stare. “The same goes for you, too, Disaster Boy.” 

Conor hugged him while he wasn’t looking, and his resolve only weakened by a fraction. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

Ned sighed, looking at the non-existent watch on his wrist. “It’s past time for us to get outta here, or else all of our sleep schedules are gonna be completely fucked.” He opened the door behind them, and looked fondly at Darcy one last time. “I better see you tomorrow, and every day after that; because I seriously can’t handle all of their chaos without you.”

And with that, he prodded his boyfriend out of the room. As Darcy closed the door, he swore he heard Conor lean over and whisper to Ned, “ _How_ many sex toys have you bought off Amazon?”

“We have thin walls!” Darcy shouted, effectively slamming the door closed one last time.

 

Another glance at his weepy, wonderful roommate told him that, while not everything about Darcy might be perfect, he was going to be okay. Maybe he could learn to live with it if all of these rays of sunshine kept him warm through the winter.

 

* * *

 

After Darcy’s intervention on Thursday night, he began to feel slightly better about the whole situation throughout the day on Friday and Saturday morning, before they were due to escape school and board the train into town. He knew that he would have to start interacting with Victor again, and luckily, he didn’t say anything about the previous days; accepting Darcy’s version of “normal,” holding his gaze because he had to (even though the air in his lungs formed crystals whenever he did,) and letting himself laugh freely with the group.

Thank _God_ Wally, Ned, and Conor seemed to stay true to their word, acting like nothing out of the ordinary had occurred.

Still, it didn’t seem like the new feelings for Victor rumbling inside of him were just the product of an embarrassing night. It was such a mistake, giving in to curiosity and even studying Victor to begin with, because now that he wanted to forget every habit he’d picked up on, but they still glared at him, demanding his attention. They only seemed to become more transparent, as Darcy couldn’t stop himself from admiring the curve of Victor’s back when he leaned over the table in the dining hall, wanting to taste the coffee on his mouth during breakfast and hell, even the way he walked was overpowering him. Tall and breathtaking, like a benevolent king brimming with a confidence that Darcy couldn’t ever dream of owning.

He hoped that he could learn to live with this kind of distraction _very_ soon.

He also tried to hype himself up for the oncoming outing with his friends, and before he could get very far, they were already seated on the train, zipping through the countryside. How could everything feel so fast? He, Wally, and Victor, respectively, were sitting across from Ned and Conor, who looked blissfully in love. Darcy almost, _almost_ wanted to resent them for it, but there wasn’t a chance; they deserved each other more than anyone else and he couldn’t feel any happier for them.

Victor addressed the group, and Darcy was grateful that Wally narrowly obstructed his field of vision from him. “So, any ideas for the next prank on Pascal? I came up with the salt thing, being the genius that I am, so it’s time for one of you to step up.” 

Ned shrugged underneath Conor’s arm. “I’m still game for just slashing his tires; it’s artistic in its simplicity.”

Conor looked down at his boyfriend, his eyes soft. “I think the goal is to fuck with him, not get expelled.”

Wally began to vibrate, and Darcy knew that something rich was coming up. “We _could_ sneak him one of our gummy bears. Could you imagine watching him stumble around all day, thinkin’ he’s dying or some shit?”

Darcy could very much imagine that. It was such a nonsensical idea, but the image was painted plain as day in his mind, and he began to laugh before he could do anything about it. Pascal, hardly able to walk on two legs, with a look of pure ecstacy and confusion on his face, correctly deducing that he was drugged? Golden, and Darcy doubled over in his seat, knowing that he would give almost anything to make that happen. “God, that’s such a diabolical plan that I wish we could see through.”

Wally pouted at him through his eyelashes. “Aww, why not?”

Darcy heard the words leave his mouth before he could consider them. “Because we would have literally _drugged_ a teacher. Sorry, but that’s ridiculous!”

_This is why they’ll get tired of you._

The thought slammed into Darcy’s head as though someone had whispered it into his ear, and he shook it away before he could convince himself that it was true. 

It helped monumentally when Ned added, “Yeah, and it would give away the fact that there are students on campus that have an illegal substance. Hilarious, but not your best idea, Wally.”

 

When they got off the train and the hours passed as they wandered around town, Darcy began to feel more lively. The energy of his friends infected him, and as their joy only grew louder, his spirits had been raised like they were never low to begin with.

They sat down for dinner and ordered (Ned begrudgingly let them take turns paying for his meals, but not without a fight,) at a little diner near the end of some street, and Ned privately told him that it was where he and Conor had gone before on their first date. It was a Saturday night, and the conversations of other customers did well to drown his thoughts, as well as his own group’s antics.

When their food arrived, Darcy couldn’t help rolling his eyes at his two teenage friends that acted like they’d never had a proper meal in their life. Victor shovelled food into his mouth as though he was five years old, and Darcy wondered if he would always find everything he did to be endearing. It was unbelievable, how his standards could rise and fall at the same time; it wasn’t cute when Wally did it and it shouldn’t have been cute when Victor did it. 

Victor swallowed, and Darcy hoped he wouldn’t choke; either one of them. “Oh my _God,_ I always forget how good it is to eat food that’s not regulated by the school.” 

“I hear that.” Ned agreed, his mouth thankfully free of his sandwich, unlike _someone_ sitting next to Darcy.

“Excuse me, I was in the middle of a story!” Wally exclaimed, and Darcy had to look away. His own chicken sandwich and chips were left virtually untouched, his appetite not fully returning back to him.

Conor took a sip from his beer; a gift to the table when he told the waitress that it was his boyfriend’s nineteenth birthday. He must’ve had a gift for not getting carded, or maybe no one cared nowadays. “Can’t say I’m interested in a story that’s not true.”

Wally almost inhaled his burger a little too quickly, and in between coughs he spluttered, clearly insulted, “You calling me a liar?! It’s completely true, just ask Sarah, she saw the whole thing!”

Victor looked positively devious. “I will! Give me her phone number and I’ll go to a payphone right now and ask her if she really saw a radioactive rat king in the middle of a playground.” 

Wally actually began to write down Sarah’s phone number on a napkin, and Ned said, “Who wants to place bets?”

“To do that, someone actually has to bet that it’s true.” Conor pointed out.

Wally handed the Victor the napkin and gave Darcy the most lost puppy look he’d ever seen in his life. “You’ll bet on me, right Darce?”

Contrary to popular belief, Darcy considered himself to be quite the conspiracy theorist, who believed in anything that had enough plausible evidence, but he genuinely hoped it wasn’t true for the sake of his sanity.  “Out of loyalty, I’ll bet five quid that it happened. But if it didn’t, you have to give Victor the rest of your gin.”

“That was a birthday present!”

Victor stood up and put on his coat, preparing to step out and make the call. He looked at Wally like the bet had already been won. “Are you scared that you’ll get found out, Wallace? Cause we can call it off if you confess.”

The boy in question began to pick off of Darcy’s plate, his own meal already finished, looking determined. “Challenge accepted. Call my girlfriend and she’ll give you the cold hard truth.”

Victor winked and turned. “See you in a few.”

When he walked out the door, Conor asked, “Why aren’t you the one calling her? You probably don’t get to talk to her all that much during the year.”

Wally sighed through a mouthful. “Yeah, I miss her a whole lot. I’ll call her a little later so she doesn’t get withdrawals.”

If there was any one of them who would suffer from love-withdrawals, it was without a doubt Wally Carr. 

Ned answered Conor’s question for him. “It’s so he can’t bullshit what she said. Speaking of which, I’m gonna listen in on that call to make sure Victor doesn’t either.”

When they both returned, they looked like a couple of cats who just caught the proverbial mouse. “What’s the verdict?” Darcy asked, already knowing the answer.

Victor sat next to him, taking his turn to pick off Darcy’s plate and sending the remainder of his desire to eat somewhere far away from him. “I’ve heard the cold hard truth, and, with Ned as my witness, she said that it was indeed _not_ a radioactive rat king. Wally saw three rats at the park and booked it, leaving Sarah defenseless against the vermin. Sorry mate, but she’s still mad at you for it.”

“Say goodbye to your gin.” Conor looked so pleased with himself, the skeptic.

“I like her already.” Ned grinned.

“Whatever, it was dark and this was like, four years ago! I can’t remember every detail.”

Darcy handed him five pounds from his wallet and pushed his own plate towards Victor without another look in his direction.

 

With their food paid for and most bellies full, the group walked around the small town, weaving around Saturday night barhoppers. Victor took a sip from his new (used) bottle of gin and said slyly to Wally in front of him, “Bet you regret bringing this along now, huh?”

Darcy wasn’t listening, he was too busy watching how Victor’s throat moved whenever he swallowed. The night, the lights, and the rampant energy around him coupled with the way this boy made him feel like his chest was shrinking and expanding all at once was almost too much for him. Why couldn’t he just have a good time? All he wanted to do was forget, to let go. 

He swiped the clear bottle from Victor’s hand and took the heartiest swig he could suffer through.

Eyebrows shot up in his direction and he tried not to notice.

“You sure about that, Darce?” Victor asked, his golden voice dripping with suspicion.

Darcy ignored him, took another drink and looked at Ned. He was holding Conor’s hand. “Edwin, if it’s alright with you on your birthday, I’d like to get drunk tonight.”

Ned just smiled a little and shook his head. “Have fun. It’ll be a new experience for all of us.”

Darcy linked his left arm with Wally’s beside him and took three more large consecutive sips before passing it to him. It tasted terrible, but the sour flavor on his tongue whenever he caught Victor looking at him out of the corner of his eye was so much worse.

 

They walked along for a little while, Darcy drinking far more than Wally for once, before muffled music caused them to stop and look through a large window at the front of some kind of restaurant/bar establishment. The tables had been cleared for the night, and in the back Darcy could see pink, blue, and purple lights swirling around what must’ve been a dance floor. People were dancing. And maybe it was the gin already whispering to him, but Darcy wanted to dance more than anything right now.

He took one final swig from the bottle, registering how much lighter it had become in his hand before wiping off a drop that had dripped down his chin. He handed the bottle back to Victor, and in one fell swoop, waltzed in the front door with the declaration,

“I’m goin’ in.”

He swiftly passed through the dining area, the music finally reaching his ears at the perfect volume. The alcohol was rapidly creeping up on him, but the beat was touching him in every way that he could ask for. He wanted to move, to let the sound take him away, he wanted to be _fun._

It wasn’t a club, but someone who must’ve worked there to act as a bouncer put an arm out to stop him. “Can I see your ID?” She asked over the music.

Darcy pushed past her, losing all semblance of respect and politeness and said without looking at her, “Fuck off, I’m nineteen and already drunk.”

She didn’t pull him back, so he considered it a success. He stepped into the middle of the dance floor and turned around to see his friends finally walking through the door after him. He couldn’t see their expressions and he didn’t care. He just followed the movements of the people around him, glad that he decided to wear something that was at least a little appropriate for something like this; a long white shirt with a loose neckline that was much too thin for the cold weather and black skinny jeans. He _had_ a warm fleece-lined denim jacket, but he must’ve discarded it on his way in.

There were a surprising number of people there with him, and they didn’t seem at all bothered by his company. As a matter of fact, he was almost swallowed by them, losing himself in the routine of rolling his hips and moving his shoulders in rhythm, and the music was perfect. It was low, upbeat and full of a bass to match his heartbeat, making his chest flutter. Darcy was drunk, and he’d never felt so free. He couldn’t even care less when a young woman walked up to him, clearly as tipsy as he was, and ran the hand that wasn’t holding her drink up his chest and around his neck, quickly falling in sync with him. She looked up at him with lidded eyes that were a familiar shade of brown and he didn’t care that he lost track of his friends, that he was losing track of himself, if could’ve had anything in the world at this moment, it was to be free.

She lifted her drink up to his lips and he was happily about to take a sip when a figure wedged its way in between them, successfully causing half her drink to spill on the floor. She gave the figure a death glare that could’ve scared anyone, and Darcy realized that it was Wally.

“Oh hey! Thought I lost you guys!” He accepted Wally as his new dance partner, forgetting all about the angry girl, and moved in closer. 

“Not a chance! What’s gotten into you?” His best friend didn’t look worried; he was smiling and it was radiant.

“Gin!”

Wally laughed over the music. “Obviously! Don’t ditch us again, okay?”

Darcy wouldn’t let anything in the world ruin this perfect moment. “Aww, but I don’t wanna go home yet!”

The shorter of the two rolled his eyes, and Darcy thought he could feel his rolling, too. “We don’t have to! Just don’t drink anyone else’s booze, alright? You’ll give Ned a heart attack.” He jerked his head to the side, where Darcy finally spotted Ned, Conor, and Victor looking at him like he just fell from a spaceship.

Victor was watching him. Victor was watching Darcy dance and suddenly he wasn’t drunk enough.

“I want more gin!” He cried, hoping more would materialize in his hand at his command. 

“No, I think you’re good; just dance with me for a bit, okay?” Wally placed his hands on Darcy’s waist and that’s all it took to convince him. He didn’t want to be scared, he didn’t want to be worried, he just wanted to _live._

And so they danced. Some songs Darcy had never heard in his life, others he knew well enough to sing all the lyrics to his friend in his arms. They moved together like they’d done it a thousand times before, and maybe it was his inebriation, but it felt like they were perfectly in tandem. Darcy felt like he was born to dance. He tried moves that he’d only seen professionals do on stage or in music videos, and Wally followed along wonderfully; there was no other person that he’d rather be doing this with, liberated of all the stupid shit that society told him they couldn’t do. At some point the gin told him to put his arms around Wally’s neck, and it must’ve told Wally to dip him in turn, making him laugh so hard he was half worried he’d fall to the floor if Wally hadn’t been so strong.

Darcy hadn’t been this happy all week.

Time didn’t exist, and it was euphoric until Darcy caught himself looking back over at his friend’s booth. Ned and Conor were kissing and Victor was nowhere to be found. There it was again; that intimate feeling of wanting Victor’s eyes on him while at the same time hoping he’ll never see him again.

Eventually though, when he could convince the room to stop flashing and spinning so goddamn much, he locked eyes with his last friend, filling up a cup of water from a spout on the counter. It had to be Darcy’s imagination, but his dark gaze was telling him everything he’s ever wanted to be told.

It’s all too much. Too much pain, too much pleasure; the alcohol couldn’t take away the knowledge that he’d never have Victor like Ned and Conor had each other, and the taste in his mouth grew more bitter by the second. Before he could even process what was happening, (the world was twisting and tumbling too much for that and he could hardly see,) he raced through the building, out the front door and into the frozen air.

It’s all too much, and every emotion left his body as he vomited against the wall in the next alley, causing a couple of smokers in the vicinity to scurry away. Sweat fell from his hair and dripped down his forehead, and half a chicken sandwich really hadn’t been the best idea, after all.

 

He was so destroyed that it took him a few minutes to register the comforting hand on his back, rubbing soothing circles against the wet fabric of his shirt as he retched. He looked up, his head weighing at least ten tons and blinked away the tears that traced hot trails down his cheeks. It was Victor, of course it was, staring down at him with a mixture of worry and amusement, holding the cup of water.

_He’s too beautiful._

Darcy began dry heaving at the sight of any clear liquid, having coughed up the remainder of his feelings, but still drunkenly noted how disgusting he was. He even vaguely hoped he didn’t ruin one of his favorite shirts. But the tall blond still rubbed his back soothingly, saying in a fond voice, “Yeah, I know, get it up. See, this is what you get for hardly eating a thing all week and then binge drinking half a bottle of gin. Not to mention, you danced for like, an hour and a half without a break.”

“Shut up.” Was all he can choke out before finally forcing himself up straight, but the world was upside down again and he fell against the brick wall behind him. He would’ve knocked himself out if it hadn’t been for Victor’s hand on the back of head, his fingers threaded through his hair to gently lower him down.

“Jesus, Darce, don’t hit your head. Take this and drink as much as you can, slowly.” He prodded the cup into Darcy’s hand, though drinking _anything_ sounded like the worst idea. But the bile made his throat simmer and he took the cup, swished the water in his mouth, and spit it out on the ground next to him. All he wanted to do was sleep and never wake up again.

“I’m not kidding; drink it. I’m gonna fetch the others and then we’re going home, alright?”

“Fine.” Darcy spat angrily, his eyes already closing, but he managed a few sips nonetheless. It felt cool and soothed his throat and stomach, and by the time the group returned to collect him off the concrete, he’d already finished it. He let the cup fall from his hands at the sensation of his jacket being thrown onto his shoulders and a strong arm lifting him up from underneath his armpits with another on his waist, hauling him into the air to stand on both legs.

Unfortunately for him, it was Victor’s warmth that felt so good guiding him back to the station, but he didn’t have the energy to fight.

Before he knew it, they were boarding the train, Darcy somehow regaining a semblance of control over his feet enough to put one in front of the other. Wally sat down first, and Darcy collapsed onto the seat and into his arms. He was too torn apart to be embarrassed, even though this had easily been the most humiliating week of his life.

He settled his face in the crook of Wally’s neck, appreciating his hands on wrapped around his waist more than he thought could ever be possible. He was already drifting off, but before he could pass out, he opened his eyes long enough to glance at Ned, who was looking back at him with…some kind of emotion on his face.

“Sorry I threw up on your birthday, Ned.” He was too tired to cry.

He shrugged and smiled at him. “It’s okay, I had fun.” He and Conor’s hands hardly left each other for the whole night, and Darcy was happy for them, he really was.

 

He accidentally caught a glimpse of Victor’s eyes on him, and fell asleep.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FRIENDSHIP. Can I get an Amen in the chat?
> 
> (Sorry if you don't like where this is going, but it's where we've ended up. I think the theme song for the end of this chapter is Bellyache by Billie Eilish; I had it on repeat.)
> 
> ((Also, I promise that they won't get drunk and high in EVERY chapter, it just goes to show my lack of ability to further the plot without substances.))
> 
> Thank you all for sticking with me through this mess <3


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Dance with me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Damn, a week and nearly 15k words later and she's back with ROMANCE! I hope you guys enjoy this chapter <3
> 
> I'd like to give a shout out to my homie @elliotlefevre over on tumblr for giving me the enthusiasm I need to keep going after every chapter :)

 

_Well that was interesting. I feel kinda bad for having such a good time on my birthday while Darcy was so obviously going through it, but in the end, I think he needed that outing just as much as I did. I look forward to more trips into town as the school year goes on; I’d almost forgotten how refreshing it is to actually /be/ with Conor in public, and to be reminded that, though it can be disappointing, the rest of society does indeed exist outside of school._

_As much as he regrets getting completely sloshed, I think Darcy’s experience that night was somewhat...cathartic for him. At least that’s what it looked like when I watched him dance. Watching him dance, though obviously wasted, was incredible. I’ve hardly ever seen him smile like that, and I don’t think it was only the alcohol- he was made for it._

_I didn’t get to look at him for long, (definitely not as long as Victor,) cause Conor pulled me in to take advantage of the Distraction! on the Dancefloor, so we didn’t notice when he left. That part I genuinely feel bad about. We didn’t see him all day on Sunday. Wally proudly proclaimed that, for once, he was the one to take care of an atrociously hungover roommate that was too sick and embarrassed to leave his room._

_On Monday he said he’ll never, ever, get that drunk again, and I believe him._

 

_Either way, I had a wonderful birthday, surrounded by my wonderful friends and wonderful boyfriend, who, at the moment, is not-so-wonderfully sick. He was diagnosed by the school nurse with a bad bout of the flu a few days after our trip, and though she offered to have him stay in the infirmary for the duration of it, he’s been holed up (slowly dying, as he puts it,) in our room._

 

* * *

 

The first three days were the worst of it; Conor could hardly move a muscle, completely stationary in his own bed for once, save for the constant coughing and shivering. Ned was doing everything he could for him, stocking up on amphetamines and bringing an electric kettle into their room to make sure he received a consistent flow of lemon and honey tea. The nurse was kind enough to provide him with enough blankets and medical advice to keep his partner happy and sedated, but unfortunately, the most Conor could do was stay hydrated and sleep it off, so the two of them were forced to wait it out. 

Ned wasn’t really _worried_ about him, but his heart broke a little whenever Conor suffered a particularly horrid round of coughing that seemed to tear up his lungs. He cracked open the window for most of the day (much to Conor’s frigid dismay,) insisting that he wouldn’t get any better without that sliver of fresh air, and replaced one cold washcloth after another on his forehead. The poor guy burned up with fever, and Ned, as his honorary nurse, was required to change his sheets whenever he sweat through them. He’d never taken care of anyone like this before, but all things considered, he thought he was doing a pretty stand-up job.

On the second day, after convincing him to drink as much water as possible before falling asleep again, he looked at Ned with glassy eyes and said, his voice raw, “You’re too good to me, Neddie. I dunno what I did to deserve you.”

Ned rolled his eyes and carded a hand through Conor’s hair. It likely didn’t have any positive medical effects, but it seemed to soothe the both of them. “Don’t be so dramatic.”

He leaned down to kiss him, but Conor turned away, wincing as it aggravated his headache. “Don’t even think about kissing me, or you’ll get it too.”

Ned kissed him anyway, confident that Conor couldn’t do anything about it. Even his lips were hot and feverish, and he wished he could snap his fingers to bring him back to full health. “Don’t worry about it; I haven’t been sick in like, ten years. I’m blessed with the perfect immune system.”

He attempted to sleep with Conor for the first night, but they had to break the habit when it became clear that he could hardly sleep through the night, consequently twisting and turning so much that Ned had to migrate to his own bed, riddled with guilt. On the third day, when Darcy asked about his condition, Ned told him honestly that he’d hardly gotten any sleep since he came down with it; Conor coughed up a lung no matter how much medicine he drank, and both of their sleep schedules suffered for it. Fortunately, Darcy kindly offered that Ned could room with him and Wally for the duration of the illness, since they apparently had no trouble sharing a bed. 

But during the day outside of classes, Ned stayed with him, keeping himself busy in their room and occasionally making sure that Conor was still breathing, cuddling him when he felt like being held, and doing his best to nurse him back to health. On the fourth day, he even convinced him to take half an edible after looking into the healing properties of CBD, and thankfully, he slept for about twelve hours straight.

On this day, gazing at Conor as he peacefully slept across from him, sweat shining on his forehead and looking pale as a ghost save for the bright red flush on his cheeks, Ned thought that he could look at him no matter what condition befell him. He looked angelic, his coughing and sneezing finally dying down, and wrapped in what could’ve been thirty blankets, more or less. Ned thought that if he didn’t have this unwavering affection for Conor, he might’ve even resented having to take care of him so intensively. But for him, Ned would happily get him through any illness for the next two weeks or for the next hundred years.

Because Conor Masters was perfect, and Ned was in love with him. 

It wasn’t a harsh wave of emotion that overwhelmed him as he looked on at his boyfriend, but it had nonetheless been building inside of him for what felt like forever now. It was a soft, warm feeling that engulfed him in a pure and simple _rightness._ It was certainty, true and consistent. The way Ned’s heart soared as he considered this was different from the others, unlike when Conor pulled him to the side for stolen kisses before class or whispered all the ways he thought about Ned throughout the day. It was the same feeling that he got whenever he woke up wrapped in Conor’s warmth on the weekend, gently prodding him awake with soft kisses all over his mouth and neck; the same one that drowned any and all hesitation whenever their eyes met in public, surrounded by their classmates, the silent and firm agreement that no one else’s words could change or take away what they had.

Conor was security, the unquestionable knowledge that they cared for each other, had each other through thick and thin; broken noses, possible concussions, through hangovers and debilitating illness. They _had_ each other. Conor was home, the only real home that Ned had ever known after his mother’s death, and for the first time, he wasn’t scared.

Ned would love him forever, and he wanted to be with him for as long as humanly possible.

He wanted to live with him, to graduate with him and pursue his passion with him, to wake up in one bed with him every morning for the rest of his days. It didn’t matter if they were in town, in the dining hall, or safely tucked away in their dorm; it must’ve been destiny that they met, and Ned had no intention of letting it go. If anyone told him that their affection was temporary, merely a distraction to fly away from the confines of campus, he’d hit them where it hurts.

Nothing about this feeling was artificial.

For the first time, he’d allowed himself to get carried away with the feelings of excitement, the sensation of new love, but this feeling, this raw thunder in his heart that felt like a constant storm, was different. It wasn’t anything like the butterflies in his stomach; it was a warm tug on his heart that he couldn’t believe he’d never felt before, and now that it was there, something told him that it would never leave him.

Ned wasn’t anxious, uncertain, or nervous in the slightest as he watched Conor sleep (like he’d been when he realized that he had feelings for him in the first place,) he was only perfectly whole. Before he knew it, he was carefully climbing over his boyfriend’s sleeping form, settling in behind him with one arm wrapped around his chest and listening to his steady heartbeat. It didn’t matter that the door had to remain locked at all times, or that they had four months and then another school year until they would really be free. All that mattered was that Ned was allowed to be so close to him in this moment.

Against his back, in the safety of his internal monologue, he whispered the confession that felt like a prayer.

_I love you._

 

* * *

 

 

On a quiet night in January, Dan Sherry was taking a long, slow stroll around the campus in an attempt to shake off the remaining tension from his last phone call with Arthur. It wasn’t the first, and it definitely wasn’t going to be the last, but walking without direction always helped to clear his mind. They couldn’t see each other nearly as often as they wanted to, what with this new job being a considerable distance away from the nearest town, and even further away from where they lived together. It had taken far longer than necessary to secure this position and there was no way he could turn it down. Arthur knew this, but it was difficult to set aside time for each other as the year dragged on. Saturdays were for grading papers and Sundays were for rest and planning the next week’s class schedule; visiting every weekend just wasn’t possible.

They’d been together for five years now, but they were feeling a new kind of distance.

Dan had always appreciated the empty silence of schools at night; the usually bustling hallways and classrooms echoed his footsteps in the darkness, and it was a rare moment that gave him space to breathe. The same applied for empty theaters, as there was always something so poetic about abandoned auditoriums, even if they were only ever filled for school assemblies. On his journey around the large and silent room, thinking about how he could create time to spend with his life partner, he vaguely wondered if anyone still used the ancient, graffitied room below the stage. Maybe he could flip through the old records for something new (or old) to listen to. 

When he reached the top of the stairs, he faintly heard light guitar strumming from below. He quietly descended the steps, eager to know if either Ned or Conor had continued to learn to play after that disastrous variety show. 

The light from the room drifted through the open doorway, and before he could peek his head around the corner, he heard a voice saying with an air of smugness, “Guess you’re not getting a serenade then.” 

That was Master’s voice for sure. He didn’t talk too much during class, but he’d read aloud enough when required for Dan to recognize his voice when he heard it.

“Please? Just give me, like, one line from your favorite song or something.” Ned Roche and his unmistakable thick accent; the previously quiet and reserved student whose writing had become more and more clever ever since he won the essay competition. Those two had been joined at the hip after the Senior Cup, and though he never spoke in class unless specifically asked, Dan could tell that he’d become increasingly happier ever since. One could even say that he looked elated these days. The memory of encountering Ned shuffling out of a supply closet, blushing furiously at the sight of his incredulous teacher resurfaced in Dan’s mind, and he had to suppress a chuckle before deciding to walk in on them to ask what they were working on.

It appeared as though they were trying to bargain; a song from Conor for a passage from Ned’s journal, coupled with banter that made Dan smile without fully realizing it. He remembered when he’d seen the two of them at the beginning of the year, looking like the loneliest souls to walk the earth. At some point, though, something about their lives must’ve shifted, (he remembered suddenly that it was definitively _after_ the rugby team’s prank against Pascal, and it still made him laugh whenever he thought about it,) and now the both of them were more often than not in the company of each other, or three other boys in his classes. Every time he saw them, they were laughing about something, looking like they were having the time of their lives, and he couldn’t feel prouder.

Maybe it’s for this reason that Dan found himself sitting on the third step up, vaguely listening to their voices on the stairs. He knew that he shouldn’t, but the heavy separation from Arthur prevented him from climbing the stairs and leaving the boys in peace.

They must’ve come to some kind of decision, for Ned cleared his throat as though he was arranging for a sermon. Deciding that it really wasn’t okay to listen in on one of his student’s private writings, he prepared to lift himself up and make his way back across the grounds.

Dan stilled, remaining on the step when he heard…his own name coming from Ned’s mouth, and curiosity got the better of him. 

 

_“I can’t help thinking that Mr Sherry knows about me and Conor, not that I would be worried if he did. I’ve really been focusing on paying attention in class now that I can’t plagiarize old music in my essays, but lately I catch him giving me and Conor knowing looks from the front of the room. Jesus, Conor, could you be more obvious…”_

 

He knew it; they _were_ together. It wasn’t blatantly obvious that they were in a relationship, but if anyone knew what to look for, Ned and Conor could be figured out. Maybe he should talk to one of them about it, tell them that they could be more discreet, and reassure them that he’d take their secret to the grave. He knew better than almost anyone about hiding relationships that wouldn’t be accepted, and they deserved to be young and happy in peace.

Ned finished his passage with a short paragraph about what he should’ve gotten Conor for Christmas and a heartwarming line that made Dan’s heart thaw:

_“...I could honestly write a novel about all the ways he makes me feel.”_

There was a second of silence in the room, before he could hear them kissing and laughing, and Dan knew it was time to take his leave. He remembered falling in love as a teenager, how exciting and perfect everything felt all the time, and appreciated how lucky they were to have found each other. It reminded him of the conversation he had with Conor during the fall, when he tried to convince the boy that it really does get better, even if it takes time, and how he could see it in Conor’s eyes that he didn’t believe it. 

He heard Conor strike up a familiar tune, and used the cover of sound to tread lightly up the stairs; smiling to himself because he knew that, if they could fall for each other in a place like this, love could survive anywhere.

 

* * *

 

_It took five days to finally convince Conor to take a shower and join me in the dining hall to try to eat anything, and if this were the middle ages, he’d be dead by now. Thank God for heightened immune systems and 21st century medicine, because if he got any thinner as a result of his illness, I’d be genuinely worried._

_He must be on the mend, because when I pointed out his incremental weight loss, he smirked at me and said, “What, you don’t think I’m sexy like this?”_

_I’ll still think he’s sexy even if he ends up mutating as a result of the world’s pollution or radiation from distant nuclear attack, and when I told him as much, he gave me his million dollar smile. For both of our sakes, I hope it’s at least another year until he gets sick like that again._

 

_I’m not nervous to take the leap and tell him that I’m in love with him, but it’s just not the right time yet. I’m not sure what the right time is, exactly, but I’m hoping that the opportunity will present itself to me._

_*_

_*_

_*_

_Now that Conor’s no longer too delirious to ignore the pile of homework assignments that he missed, Darcy and I have taken the responsibility to get him caught up in classes. It’s nice, just the three of us hanging out. I know Darcy’s still nervous about spending too much time around Victor, but he’s hoping that Victor thinks it’s just because he’s still embarrassed about that atrocious week. I wanna keep checking in on him, even though he’s annoyed by it, but I can tell that he’s dealing with some shit he didn’t know he needed to deal with in the first place. Logically, he knows I’m here for him, as are Conor and Wally, but I’m well aware that there are some things he keeps locked up tight. He’ll be okay, even if I have to remind him all the time._

_*_

_*_

_*_

_Pranking the coach feels a lot like how I’d imagine it feels to level up against a boss in a video game; getting increasingly more difficult until it’s necessary to find new tactics, and after the Salt Incident, he made sure that it was nearly impossible to break into his office. He added new locks and a security system, so I hear._

 

_He made two mistakes. The first was assuming that if we were to try again, we’d only attack his work space. What work does he need to get done in there, anyway? He’s not a teacher, and I doubt being the overlord of a school rugby team requires that much paperwork. So instead of trying to get into his office, we decided to dig a little deeper: using my incredible lockpicking skills to break into his personal quarters._

_His second mistake was taking an extended vacation, probably aware of the fact that he’s completely worthless around here until March. There wasn’t a chance that we would get lucky enough to snatch his keys for a second time even if he was still around, so all he ended up achieving was giving us plenty of time to pull of this heist._

_It was very simple. It took one day to coordinate and three nights to pull off. I only let Conor get involved for one of these nights; lest his illness flare up again, and there wasn’t a chance in hell that I could be convinced to do so much heavy lifting, so we were put in charge of watching out for any snitches or potential teachers. I have a feeling that Mr Sherry knew what we were up to, but he happily stayed in his own living space while we tried to be as quiet as possible._

 

 _After ensuring that I didn’t do any lasting damage to the lock, they silently removed /all/ the furniture, his mattress, the mini fridge, the wardrobe, the rugs and curtains, every shelf, chair and half-assed decorative wall art in the room. When I say they moved everything, I mean_ **_everything._ ** _Every removable item in the room (and his bathroom, too,) was pushed to a secret location, waiting to be evenly distributed around the campus for him to search for the night before his return._

_We essentially moved him out, and it should honestly be seen as a favor, after everything he puts his players through._

_I’m proud of these boys and their conviction to fuck with him, and it’s probably the only thing I’ll really be happy to see them do. I heard one of them left nothing but a sticky note with a little smiley face drawn on it._

 

_Am I a sadist? Possibly, but I’m a proud one._

 

* * *

 

On the morning of the first rugby practice in early March, and not-so-coincidentally Pascal’s first day back on campus, Ned and Darcy were eagerly waiting in the bleachers, along with about twenty other students who had either heard about the heist or actively participated in it. Ned thought it had been so worth waking up at the crack of dawn to watch the events (repercussions) unfold, shivering in the late winter chill. The weather had been improving with a minuscule rise in temperature, but every day was still as grey and wet as the previous one. 

The students were buzzing, either with nerves and worry for what was in store for the players, or with theories of how Pascal would react.

“What do you think he’ll do?”

“Probably make ‘em run for six hours at best.”

“It’s taking awhile for him to show up, isn’t it?”

“I wonder if he had a heart attack or something!”

The audience was raptly staring at the players, who were talking amongst themselves or warming up on the field to stay busy before his arrival. It was taking much longer than usual for Pascal to show up, and tensions were rising.

Ned looked over at Darcy, who was attempting to look bored and nonchalant, save for the grin on his face that completely gave him away. “For everyone’s sake, I really hope he didn’t have an aneurism; I don’t wanna be directly responsible for killing off another teacher.”

Darcy snorted. “I’m sure anyone who’d replace him would be _much_ better.”

Ned stifled a yawn; never would he want another reason to wake up so early. “I’m praying that he doesn’t ruin any of the puppy’s pretty faces, that’d be tragic.” Conor had endured enough facial disfigurement from the sport for a lifetime, in his opinion.

“He has been known to slap them around once or twice, but let’s hope he has some self control.” 

A boy by the surname of Martins leaned over between them, tapping Darcy on the shoulder and looking inquisitively excited. If Ned remembered correctly, he was a freshman, and responsible for hanging Pascal’s sheets up from the ceiling.

“Do you think he’ll ban them from going to the dance?” He asked.

Darcy looked into the distance and considered this for a moment, nodding thoughtfully. “Damn, I guess we could’ve thought that through a little more. I hope not, I mean, it’s not like we put any of his shit outside, so none of it’ll be ruined. He just has to look for it.” He looked back at Ned and smiled. “For Wally’s sake, I hope they can go. He’s trying to talk Sarah into letting him sneak her into the dance and pretend that she goes to Riverside.”

Ned glanced over at their friend, who was emphatically talking to Conor, probably about how they replaced the whiteboard in the science lab with Pascal’s mattress or something. He couldn’t help but grin at the thought of Wally smuggling his future wife into a school-sanctioned event.

“That sounds like something he’d do.”

He’d been trying not to read Darcy too much over the course of the month, knowing that any heightened reflection on his well-being would probably irritate him, but he took this opportunity, in the excitable company of their peers to sneak a glance at him. He seemed a lot better after his emotional stint, but occasionally Ned would catch him staring into space, much like he was now, appearing to be lost in thought. Once or twice, he noticed Darcy scanning over the pages of his textbook, eyes clearly unfocused on whatever it was that he studied, looking...morose, for lack of a better term. He tapped his pencil whenever he seemed to be on some kind of train of thought, eyebrows furrowed and mouth turned downwards, but it was rare that he’d actually fill Ned in on what was going through his mind. 

Unfortunately, in this particular instance, Darcy caught Ned’s eye, narrowing his own and jostling him back to the present.

“ _What,_ Ned.”

Ned looked away out of the goodness of his heart. “You planning on going to the dance?”

Darcy seemed to curl into himself, crossing his arms over his chest and looking back out on the field. The players were becoming visibly anxious at their coach’s absence at this point. “Maybe, but I can’t imagine I’ll have too much fun.”

“Why not? Dancing is the most fun I’ve _ever_ seen you have.” Ned wiggled his eyebrows in his friend’s direction; actions speak louder than words, after all, and the night of his birthday spoke _volumes._

Darcy threw back his head and groaned at the cloudy sky. “It’ll be a long time before I ever do something like _that_ again. Besides, lately the whole idea seems kinda…” He glanced around, wary of any prying ears before leaning in and adding in a low whisper, “Straight.”

Ned scoffed. “Can’t argue with that.” This was one of the many obvious reasons he himself wouldn’t be attending the spring dance. Even if he lived in the alternate reality where he and Conor could be openly together, he still wouldn’t want to go. The idea of any awkward chaperoned event, heavily flocked with the attentive eyes of both concervative teachers and rambunctious teenagers (likely drunk on spiked punch,) made Ned want to gag. Not like he’d be interested in going to any actual clubs in the future either, but still, the whole thing sounded like a complete waste of time.

And anyway, he and Conor would have nearly the whole school to themselves for the evening, and that was more than enough to rustle the butterflies in his stomach back to life.

“Well, if you don’t go, you have to promise to wear that shirt I got you for our next outing, alright?”

Darcy gave him a genuine smile at this. “You have my word on that.”

 

“Oh shit, he’s here!”

The show had begun, and about damn time, too; any longer waiting outside and Ned would’ve called it a day. The air changed, thick with a palpable anticipation as all eyes directed their attention towards the rugby field. 

There he was, the man of the hour, storming across the grass and Ned could almost see the steam rising up from his livid form. His burly shoulders, wrapped in the blue coat they’d all become so acquainted with, red face nearly hidden under his beanie and rugged beard that was positively quivering in anger, visible even from this distance. His furious footsteps were so heavy with the dread of what was to come that Ned was surprised the ground didn’t split open beneath his feet. It was truly a work of modern art.

He blew the whistle hanging from his neck on its iconic yellow string, and the team jumped into a rigid line, some with crystal clear looks of anxiety written on their faces, and others barely trying to hide their smug grins of victory. 

As Pascal approached them, Ned caught Conor’s eyes and flashed him a thumbs up, earning a suppressed look of fondness before he pursed his lips and looked away. He was so damn cute. 

Before Ned could fully appreciate how glad he was to see his three best and only players back on the pitch, Pascal walked across the line, likely giving each and every one of them a look of pure agitated distress. 

Ned could faintly pick up on the coach’s seething words. “So, the funniest thing happened last night. I come back to campus from my _hard-earned_ vacation…”

_Hard-earned? What do you even do?_

“...Ready to throw myself back into the throws of _war_ for you, for this _team_ that I’ve spent years putting together and perfecting…” His voice either began to crescendo or Ned’s hearing had suddenly improved, “...After pouring out my blood, sweat, and tears for this game,” Ned considered it to be more of a lifestyle, “Expecting to get some fuckin’ rest before today’s training, and you’ll never believe what I found!”

Darcy moved closer to Ned’s ear and whispered, “I’m so ready for this.”

Pascal took one heaving breath and bellowed, “THAT ALL MY SHIT’S GONE.”

A few players flinched at what was sure to be the first of many outbursts, but Ned caught a few of them, the puppies included, try their damndest to hide their grins and remain stock still. 

Pascal was still pacing, eyeing each of his players in turn. “My bed, my wardrobe, my TV,” He began to pretend to count off each item on his fingers, “My chairs, the couch, even my fucking _coffee pot_ was gone! I thought to myself, ‘This can’t be right, I must’ve gone into the wrong room or something. But that’s not possible, because I used my _key_ to get in.’ And then...it dawned on me.” He stopped his walk, gesturing in a way that suggested that a light had just turned on in his head. “That I have a bunch of meddlin’ shit-for-brains for players!”

The audience might’ve been trying to stifle their laughter, but they were failing miserably. Even Darcy could hardly keep it in. Pascal didn’t seem to hear them; the blood must’ve been pounding in his ears too heavily to realize that he had not-so-innocent onlookers as he trembled to burst,

“I SLEPT ON THE FUCKIN’ FLOOR LAST NIGHT!”

Ned’s own dam burst, and he struggled to contain the laughter spilling gleefully from his mouth behind his hand. This was just too good. He leaned over to Darcy, nearly shaking in his mirth. “He could’ve slept in the infirmary.”

Darcy didn’t miss a beat. “He has too much pride for that.”

Pascal stood in front of them with his hands clasped behind his back. “Which one of you _idjits_ is responsible for this?”

He should’ve known that none of the players would rat each other out, even Weasel, who looked to be on the verge of tears, humorous or otherwise. When no one spoke up, he predictably rounded on the team captain.

He fisted a hand in Victor’s shirt, but the blond remained unmoved. So brave. “Where’s my shit?!”

Ned instinctively leaned in closer to hear Victor’s response along with the rest of the audience. Barely, just barely he could hear Victor saying in an unwavering tone, “Everywhere, _sir.”_

When Pascal used his leverage to throw Victor onto the wet grass, the tension could’ve been cut with a knife. The laughter drained out of Ned’s ears and the bleachers were still. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Darcy gripping the side of the bench, his knuckles turning white.

“Who broke in?” Pascal’s voice had lowered, and Ned could pretty much hear his jaw clenching and hoped in panic that he would fracture a tooth, because his stomach dropped at the question.

_Oh, please don’t sell me out, please don’t sell me out-_

Deep down, he knew that Victor would _never_ , and they’d kept that particular piece of information about his involvement under wraps for this exact reason.

Ned released a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding in when Victor said, his face still admirably stoic, “Couldn’t tell you.”

Pascal turned and cried a roar of frustration into the brisk morning air, strikingly similar to the one he’d released when rock salt spilled out of his car. He questioned each of his players, futally hoping that he could glean any information from their faces. For many minutes that consisted of rambling shouts, frighteningly specific threats, what Ned presumed were looks that could turn the weak-willed into dust, and a consistent stream of silent _please don’t touch my boyfriend, please don’t touch my boyfriend, please don’t touch my-_ Pascal finally seemed to wear himself down. 

He was still achingly red in the face and possibly on the verge of a stroke, but he heaved a final breath and declared, his voice torn from screaming, “Well! I’ve got some good news for you lads. You’ll be skipping class today!”

A shred of fear had finally set into the eyes of Ned’s precious boys.

“Because until dinner tonight, you’ll be running drills. After which, you can kindly return each and every one of my possessions back to my room. Think of it as a win, because you’ll be getting _lots_ of practice today!”

Before Ned could let the sympathy fully sink in, Pascal turned to the bleachers for the first time and screeched, “Get the _fuck_ outta here!”

None of them had to be told twice. In one swift motion the crowd gathered itself and moved to flee the field, most of them still giggling as they departed. Ned turned once more and gave Conor a look of utmost condolence and mouthed a _sorry_ before the whistle blew, and his poor friends were off.

 

He’d give Conor anything he wanted after a day like that.

 

* * *

 

Later that night, at approximately nine pm, Ned looked up from his bed at the sound of the bedroom door opening, muffled by his headphones. A warm sensation of relief washed over him, even though he knew it was unnecessary (Pascal wouldn’t actually _kill_ him after all,) but still, Ned was worried that Conor’s flu would make a reappearance if he was worked too hard. 

He threw his book to the side and removed his headphones as Conor forcefully slammed the door shut and locked it in place. Oh, the look in his eyes was so exhausted, so thrashed and irritable, that Ned would be worried that someone died if he didn’t personally see for himself what had transpired. 

Ned wordlessly opened his arms for his lover, who all but jumped into his embrace in a final wave of physical deterioration. He was covered from head to toe in dirt, sweat, and defeat, but Ned couldn’t care less. The way Conor wrapped his whole body around him and nuzzled his face into his neck in search of comfort was worth the whole world, and Ned quietly proved this by placing soft kisses in the top of his hair and on his forehead. 

“Hey,” Ned said softly, breaking the silence.

Conor only held him tighter. “Hey.” He replied solemnly.

If Ned had to sell his soul, it would only be for the promise that he’d never have to undergo anything so hellish and strenuous. He could only imagine. “I’m so sorry.”

Conor buried his face into the fabric of Ned’s shirt and whimpered, “Yeah, that sucked so much! I can hardly move.”

“That’s okay, you don’t have to. I did bring you some dinner, though, when we realized that you probably weren’t getting any.”

Conor groaned and Ned could feel his side faintly heat up with the warmth of his breath. “ _Ned,_ you’re so good to me! I like you so much!”

Ned was partially glad that his boyfriend’s face was hidden to save himself the trouble of trying to hide the heat rising to his face, and partially worried that Conor could hear his heart pick up at these honest words. He had the urge to tell him the true extent of his own feelings, but instead he lowered his head, chuckling as he said into Conor’s ear, “Well, you deserve it. Can’t have you getting sick again.”

“I’ll _never_ complain about going to classes ever again! I don’t wanna go to hell, because that’s what it is.” Conor sounded almost drunk in his weary stupor, but Ned supposed that’s what twelve hours of rigorous training and furniture-hauling does to the human mind.

“You should _definitely_ skip class tomorrow, though, babe.” The word still tasted sweet on Ned’s tongue, and he wanted to drink in the sound forever.

“Okay.” Conor conceded pitifully.

Ned shifted on the mattress slightly, just to prod Conor’s head to turn and face him. When he cracked open his eyes, Ned couldn’t help raising his hand to run his thumb over his cheekbone, jawline, and gently over his lips. His eyes were red-rimmed and glossy, and his face was pale and flushed from the cold. God, he was so beautiful, and his heart soared when he felt Conor’s lips work into a smile under his fingers as they gazed at each other. As often as Ned wrote, he could never come up with a word to describe this feeling.

“You feelin’ okay?” Ned asked.

Conor nodded, leaning into his touch. “Yeah, just majorly fucked up.”

Ned ran his fingers through his hair, wondering when he should get the puppies together for another group haircut. Soon, surely. “You should probably take a shower and eat before you fall asleep like this.”

A look of embarrassment washed over Conor’s face before he reimmersed himself into the pillow that was Ned. “Sorry, I smell. I was gonna shower after all that, but I just couldn’t do it.”

Ned laughed and leaned further forward to press soft kisses onto the back of Conor’s neck. “No, it’s not that; I like the way you smell.” He _loved_ it, in fact, and secretly wished the boys didn’t always shower in the locker room immediately after practice, so he could get a chance to relive the sent he’d discovered he cherished when Conor hugged him after the Senior Cup. The way Conor smelled was magical, how it filled his senses and took him to another place entirely whenever he could breathe him in. “You just gotta warm up, and then we can keep each other warm, alright?”

Conor lifted his head once more, flashing the sweetest smile and capturing Ned’s lips with a kiss. Ned kissed back, probably more hungrily than he originally intended, but he wished he could communicate every single one of his feelings into that simple gesture.

Conor was far too exhausted to get any sort of carried away, however, and Ned almost had to drag him off the bed to get into the showers. He was gone for so long that Ned half-worried he’d fallen asleep against the tile, but he eventually returned looking refreshed, warm, and blissfully sleepy. Ned had developed a habit of watching his boyfriend get dressed whenever he showered, and he couldn’t bear the thought of breaking it any time soon. Though he was hardly steady on his feet, he still looked glorious, all toned muscle and damp skin, water dripping seductively from his hair. 

After eating the generous leftovers, he finally climbed under the covers into Ned’s bed, (though he’d long since stopped considering it to be just his,) letting the smaller of the two plant feather light kisses across his cheeks, his eyebrows, his nose, and pretty much everywhere he could reach. 

Conor pried open his eyes in the dark, looking half asleep yet suddenly clear. “Thank you.” He whispered against Ned’s lips.

Ned’s smile grew with his heart. “For what?”

“For everything, Ned. You’re just...so amazing to me. You’ve been taking care of me when you really shouldn’t have to, and I don’t know how to thank you for it.”

Ned pressed his mouth against Conor’s, totally unable to get enough. “You can thank me by taking care of yourself, okay? Don’t push yourself too much.”

“Ugh, if only it was up to me; I’ll get slaughtered if I skip practice tomorrow.”

Ned felt a twinge of guilt in his heart. “I should’ve known that another prank would only end in you guys getting punished for it. It’s not worth it if you get sick again.”

Conor traced lazy lines over the crest of Ned’s hip under his shirt, and he did his best not to shiver. “Don’t worry about it, it would’ve happened either way. Besides, it’s not like anyone can tell those guys what to do.”

The apprehension must’ve shown on his face, because Conor pulled them closer by the waist and touched their noses together in the way that always made the former smile despite his pride. “And I had fun, really. God, the look on his face was _priceless.”_

“Yeah, but I definitely wouldn’t wanna get up close and personal with it. He looked like he was actually ready to snap this time.”

Conor was clearly struggling to keep his eyes open at this point, and _maybe_ Ned would’ve confessed right then and there if the other would even remember it. So he shifted, holding Conor close to his chest and running his hand slowly up and down his back. He said the next best thing he could think of. “Goodnight, love.”

As Conor’s breathing slowed against his chest, Ned thought about all the ways in which he’d fallen in love with him. He wanted to spend every night like this, and one day share more than these little pockets of quiet joy together. He wanted more than stolen kisses, thin walls, and roughly one-hundred square feet; he wanted a full life, their own world. He wanted to shower _with_ Conor, wash each other’s hair and watch him shave one day, he wanted to cook dinner with him and spend soft mornings in each other’s arms as often as they liked. Ned wanted to tell him how hard he’d fallen for him as loudly as he could, uncaring of nearby ears and the whispers of others. He wanted to kiss him with the door open, on the sidewalk, in a restaurant, on top of the fucking world if he felt like it. 

But for now, listening to Conor’s soft breathing and feeling his strong heartbeat in the confines of this temporary place, this was enough. It was more than he could dare to ask for a year ago, so really, who was he to complain? The past two months had quietly flown by with him, and with each day that passed, Ned only found more reasons to fall for him, savoring every moment. He wanted to spend every winter breathing him in, and he hoped he’d never have to resort to a space heater again. 

He loved Conor Masters, and this was enough.

 

* * *

 

A few days after the disaster that was the day of the prank, Darcy found himself seeking solace late into the night whilst climbing up the stairs to their secret room. He’d been spending a lot of time on his own lately, much to his friend’s irritation, but he needed the space to pick apart all of these complex emotions. He needed the air to process not only his rapidly increasing feelings for Victor, but also why exactly it was that he felt so sad. Maybe he could figure it out the same way he worked through a complicated test question, with formulas, examples, references, and a load of internal struggle. 

He’d been so afraid of being seen (especially by someone like Victor,) because he was terrified of being forced to see it for himself. 

Why did he feel this way? Why didn’t he even _like_ himself after spending so many years trying to exceed his own expectations? Did something happen in the past that he make himself remember that planted this thriving seed of doubt in the pit of his stomach, or was it as natural as breathing? An automatic switch in his brain that flipped whenever he tried to convince himself that he was good enough?

Before, he thought that if he didn’t worry enough about reaching his personal goals, if he had too much fun, then it would lead to him spiralling out of control, consequently forgetting why he worked so hard in the first place. But now that little voice in his head was making itself perfectly clear; he didn’t want to get carried away because he didn’t _deserve_ to enjoy himself. 

He didn’t deserve his friends, to feel so happy, and he definitely didn’t deserve his crush on Victor. 

The wall that he’d been spending the past month working so hard to build chipped away at these intrusive thoughts, his heart sank, and sometimes it was back-breaking to pull himself out of those depths. 

He thoughtfully made his way up the stairs, almost certain that it was late enough that he wouldn’t find any of his friends in the HQ- especially the rugby players. Their training hadn’t gotten any easier and they’d been getting as much sleep as possible in a rare display of personal responsibility. So when he rounded the corner of the doorway, he didn’t even register what the light illuminating the hallway could mean. And he definitely didn’t expect to find none other than Victor, perched on his desk like an altruistic god, bathed in soft light with slow music filling the air. 

Apparently he didn’t notice Darcy’s presence, and he would’ve considered making a hasty escape if it weren’t for how incredible Victor looked at this moment. His head was turned, gazing out the dark window on the other side of the room, giving Darcy a perfect view of his neck and muscular shoulders, hands curled over the edge of the wood, reminding him of all the ways he wanted to experience those fingers. 

This dangerous train of thought only lasted about a millisecond before Victor’s head began to turn, and Darcy breathed his legs into action, silently propelling himself from whatever situation was bound to present itself. 

He was just around the corner when he heard Victor’s golden voice chase after him, “I see you, Lynch, get in here!”

 _Shit._ Darcy sighed and trudged his way back to the open door frame, firmly planting his feet and willing himself not to go any further. 

Victor beamed at him and he really wished he wouldn’t. “Funny, running into you up here.” 

He had a strong feeling that Victor knew very well that he’d be climbing those stairs tonight. “Shouldn’t you be asleep?”

The tall boy shrugged, eyeing Darcy with his omniscient brown eyes. “Shouldn’t you?"

“I’m not the one who has to be at practice at six in the morning.” He wouldn’t move, he wouldn’t give in to any of Victor’s mystical whims or whatever it was that had the ability to pull him in so easily.

“That’s true, but it takes a lot more than that to wear me down. Plus, I never got to properly thank you for bringing me dinner the other night.”

Darcy averted his eyes, looking anywhere except at the gorgeous figure propped up in front of him. He hadn’t been _avoiding_ Victor necessarily, he’d just been trying his best to keep a respectable distance between them, hopefully too casual to be called out on. But he couldn’t let his ( _the team’s_ ) captain starve, after all. “You just did.”

Victor shrugged again, and the only warning of what was to come was the tell-tale smirk on his face before he hopped off the desk and began to stride towards him, looking oh-so nonchalant. 

Darcy, sensing the immediate danger, proclaimed far too quickly and loudly to be considered normal, “Well, goodnight!” He attempted to flee from the room as fast as possible, but was paralyzed by a sudden hand on his waist, setting the skin underneath his hoodie on fire. Victor leaned forward to close the door behind him, and it sounded an awful lot like a trap snapping shut.

Cornered into the room, Victor stood directly in front of him at a distance that was far too close to be considered acceptable, and there was nothing but innocent wonder in his eyes as he said, 

“Dance with me.”

Darcy was on the verge of shattering into a million tiny pieces, like Jesus why did he smell so good and _please_ tell him he didn’t just fucking whimper at that voice. Before he could pass out from the sheer humiliation of his own vocal chords, he croaked out in despair, “ _God,_ what for?”

The way Victor looked slightly down on him made Darcy fearful of what could happen if he was left in the other’s company for another day, let alone another treacherous hour in this small room. “Cause I need the practice and I feel like I haven’t seen you in ages. You wouldn’t let me embarrass myself in front of the girls at Riverside, would you?”

If anyone was going to embarrass himself within the next millennia, it was Darcy. Before he had the chance to come up with any sort of intelligent response, the hand travelled innocently but insistently from his waist up to the small of his back, and his left hand was captured in Victor’s perfect fingers. Victor leaned in unfairly closer and the intent in his eyes was suddenly so clear and devious.

“ _Dance_ with me.”

_Why the fuck can’t I say no to him?_

So with a sigh of defeat, Darcy gave in to his trembling heart and heaved a silent fuck you to any entity watching over him, letting himself be fully dragged into the space. He knew that Victor didn’t have any ulterior motives, (not the kind that he tried and failed not to dream about;) he knew that he genuinely wanted to spend some time with him, even if he had to trick him into doing so. 

They began to move in time with the music, and before Darcy’s heart could crawl its way up his throat, he said, “What makes you think I’m gonna be any sort of good practice for you?”

Victor chuckled low in his throat and the shorter of the two had to look away, which didn’t help much now that he was forced to look into his deep, _deep_ brown eyes, causing his heart to race even faster. Fuck this guy. “I think you proved your skills that night in town, don’t you?”

“I don’t even remember that! In case you forgot, I was completely wasted…”

Victor smirked as though Darcy had just confessed all of his sins on his hands and knees, which he was kind of worried he might do if he couldn’t get a grip on himself, (along with everything else he’d do on his knees with this guy looking down on him like this- _no, NO, not here-)_

“That’s not true.”

Darcy must’ve been made of glass; how else could Victor see right through him? “It is, do you not remember the aftermath?”

Victor rolled his eyes up at the ceiling and intertwined their fingers, and Darcy wanted to weep. “You going to the dance?”

“Probably not.” Because at this very moment, nothing sounded like a worse idea. 

“And rob everyone of the force of nature that is Darcy Lynch on the dance floor? How cruel.”

Darcy scoffed, hopefully pulling himself back into a proper state of mind. “It’s not like anyone will be doing that kind of dancing, anyway.”

“Ah, so you _do_ remember.”

Darcy hated him so much. “And why do you?” He wouldn’t have had to drink so much if Victor had the common decency to just _look away._ He didn’t even know that it was his fault that Darcy had lost all self control that night.

“How could I forget?” Whether the lowered octave of his voice was intentional or not, Darcy had just about enough of this back and forth that was threatening to kill him.

“Are we actually gonna dance, or not? We’re just swaying back and forth like a couple of kids.”

Victor pulled him in by the dip of his spine and tightened his grip, making Darcy regret every word he’d ever spoken. “My sentiments exactly.”

Darcy didn’t have much experience in formal dancing, or any kind of dancing for that matter, but as soon as Victor’s hands convinced him to loosen up just for a second, he felt himself slip into a rhythm that was as natural as taking air into his lungs. The song changed, and their movements picked up along with the music, (some kind of alternative hip-hop with a beat as heavy as rain) and their steps flowed into one. Their bodies were pressed together and Darcy was extremely glad that he didn’t let his thoughts stray too far earlier. Soon enough he felt his heart lighten against his lungs and breath came back to him a little easier; even though it should’ve been impossible with the way Victor was looking at him, as though he already knew all of his secrets. 

At a higher point in the song that bled into his skin ( _And the weather’s so breezy, man why can’t life always be this easy?_ ) Victor raised a hand to spin him in place before tugging him roughly into to his chest and Darcy’s internal limits began to weaken. He felt himself teetering on the edge of joy into the hazy movement of dance that he was so quickly falling in love with, when both of Victor’s hands wrapped around his waist, prompting his own to fly automatically to the back of his neck and into his hair. Darcy realized that he was smiling before he could even think to do anything about it.

_As I recall, you love to show off, but I never thought that you would take it this far. But what do I know?_

Darcy closed his eyes not only because it was all he could do as he was quite literally being swept off his feet, but also to save himself the trouble of having to look at Victor when he got carried away. Their hips swayed together to a beat that Darcy could listen to forever (who knew that his friend had such good taste in music?) and Victor’s body began to feel like heaven against him. 

He opened his eyes slightly against his free will when Victor whispered, suddenly _very_ close to his face, “Look at me, Lynch.”

He wanted to either moan or cry or both when his dark gaze pierced into his soul, a smile playing on his lips. He could just barely see Victor’s tongue dart out of his mouth and Darcy would’ve given anything to taste it; completely forgetting to hate himself for it. Before he could do anything that would haunt him for the rest of his life, Victor spun him around, pressing Darcy’s back against his chest and he was _gone._ He could feel his addicting breath on the back of his neck, setting his skin aflame and it became very clear that no amount of alcohol could make him lose his inhibitions like this. It was all too sweet, too tantalizing, too _good_ for his poor heart to take. 

One of Victor’s hands slid up his wrist to dig his fingers into his palm, making every one of his veins prickle at the sensation, and thank God for this because Darcy thought that he might jump out the window if he didn’t have something to keep him on the floor.  

The song ended much too quickly for his liking and seeped into something a little slower, and Darcy would be mortified if he had any sense left. Victor gently prodded him around to face him again, and the brunette rested his chin on his right shoulder to avoid getting caught with whatever the hell was showing on his face.

“See? Not so bad, is it?” He could hear the hum of laughter in Victor’s voice and prayed that he would never laugh at him for giving in so easily.

Darcy could only murmur in response, worried that if he divulged any of his true feelings he’d be reduced to nothing but a blazing puddle on the floor. Victor lightly bumped his shoulder, looking for an answer that was a little more lucid. 

He leaned back, hopefully arranging his features to contrast how completely lost he felt, when a thought struck him at the sight of the playful smirk on Victor’s face. “I have a feeling you just played me. There’s no fucking way you need any practice.”

His grin only widened and Darcy knew he’d landed on the truth. Victor shrugged, not caring in the slightest that he’d been found out. “Perhaps. Maybe I just needed an excuse to hang out with you; if this is what it takes to get you to talk to me, then so be it.”

Darcy would’ve given anything to will his body into getting the hell out of there, but for the love of God, he couldn’t bear the thought of pulling away. “Looks like you got me. What do you want, then?”

The gleam in Victor eyes changed suddenly, going from (unintentionally) seductive and amused, to determined with a hint of worry. “How are you, Darcy?”

The were still swaying slowly back and forth, and he groaned at Victor’s chin. “You’re killin’ me, V.”

Victor chuckled. “Hardly; I just thought I’d check in. You don’t need my eyes to know that something’s different with you.”

_Why can’t I say no to you?_

“I’m fine, really.”

Victor gently spun them around, his feet picking up the pace just barely in time with the music, as though it would get Darcy to confess. What kind of drug was this? Was it Victor, the strong hand on his back, or the delightful sound filling the room?

The taller of the two leaned in close to rumble against Darcy’s ear; this was no doubt something to intoxicate him and Victor knew it. “Give me a moment of honesty, will you?”

Whatever it was that made him lose his mind, it worked. He subconsciously held Victor’s hand a little tighter, but whether it was an attempt to keep him grounded or make him feel like he was flying would remain forever unsolved. 

“Just trying to figure out why I feel this way. After…”

 _After you ripped me open and made me pour out my heart and soul for you..._  

“The last time we were here I think, like...maybe I feel different from everyone else. I try so hard to be the best I can, yet none of it feels like I’m actually _doing_ anything. I just wanna- _fuck_ , I just wanna feel like I’m worth something.” He was confessing into Victor’s shoulder again, wondering when he’d be strong enough to say these words on his own. What would he possibly think of him after all this?

He suddenly realized his mistake after too many moments of silence. Shit, he shouldn’t be talking to Victor about any of this; he didn’t deserve it, even if he thought he wanted to know. He pulled himself away from the heat of his friend’s figure and moved to pry his body away from yet another moment of vulnerability.

He avoided Victor’s hypnotic eyes and said, very ready to excuse himself, “Ah, shit, sorry. I should go. It’s getting late.”

He got about an inch away from the magnetic field around Victor before he was pulled even closer than before, gentle but firm all the same. There was nothing but kindness in his face as he said, “You have nothing to be sorry for, alright? We’re not friends if we can’t talk to each other about this stuff. And listen to me when I say that you _are_ worth it, you’re worth all the happiness you can get.”

_But I’ll never be worthy of you._

He wanted to get even closer, to touch Victor in a way that was so much more than dancing, to feel these words against his lips, but he couldn’t. And it was starting to hurt again.

“The look on your face suggests that you don’t agree.”

Darcy felt himself start to fall, and he had to get out of there before it became too much to handle. When would this pain leave him alone? When would he be free of this ache in his chest, threatening to burst at the seams? He made a fraction of the motion to remove himself from this heartache, to feel it in private, before Victor’s hands tightened on him, gently prodding them to move again. He didn’t even notice that they’d stilled, Darcy spilling his fears against him while they held each other.

“Not yet, okay? We don’t have to talk, just keep dancing with me.” Victor’s voice was so soft, and when would be able to say no?

It hurt so much, but he was completely helpless, so he did. He wrapped his arms around Victor’s neck and held him as close as his broken soul would allow him, and he could hardly call it dancing at this point, but Victor pressed a hand between his shoulder blades, giving him secret permission to fall even harder. It was past midnight, but he couldn’t care.

 

The music played, they danced, and Darcy continued to fall.

 

* * *

 

_New journal! Last night I had a stress dream that I butchered all the boy’s haircuts, so naturally I spent most of this evening cutting their hair to prove to everyone (myself) that I still know how to do it. Rest assured, I do._

 

* * *

 

“Please don’t do this.”

“Why not?! It looks cool!”

“It’s _awful_.”

“It’s...eccentric.”

“Good vocabulary word, but you’re wrong.”

“I’m going to take it as a personal attack if you do this to me.”

“I really doubt he’s doing this just to spite you, Lynch.”

“Is it not enough that I got you a white bowtie with a green shirt? You’ll stand out enough, I promise.”

The Puppy Parade were huddled up in Wally and Darcy’s dorm room, all of them (besides Ned and Conor, who were suddenly feeling extremely underdressed) looking positively outstanding; handsome, clean cut, and dressed to the nines. Darcy’s side-shave and edges were pristine, Victor’s undercut was coming along very nicely, and Ned only wished he was attending the dance to see them all in action. They looked marvelous, save for a specific...fashion decision that Wally had made for himself. 

He’d somehow got it into his head that light brown shoes that were very nearly orange would look wonderful with this outfit, and oh, he was so wrong. Was it the end of the world? No, but Ned worked hard for these looks. Wally looked amazing save for this one addition, and he and Darcy were currently begging him to put on a different pair.

“What would Sarah say? It’d be a crime to dance with her in such an incomplete look.” Darcy said, gazing at their friend in exasperation through the gaps in his fingers.

“Dude, she really doesn’t care what I wear.”

“It would look fine if you had something else to balance it out, and I want everyone to know that I’m responsible for this outfit. I can’t take responsibility for those shoes.”

Victor snorted, leaning against the doorway. “What style reputation do you even have, Edwin? You wear sweater vests unironically.”

This was a low blow. “It’s retro and you’d know that it’s ironic in a fashion sense if you had any say on the matter.”

“Ooh, burn.” Conor said, looking delighted at the scene.

“Wally, if you do this for me, I swear I’ll tell you where I hid the Rapman.” A true testament to Darcy’s desperation; he was clearly as distraught as Ned was about this choice.

If the higher entities would excuse him from the current bickering, he wanted to take a moment to fully appreciate how glorious his friends presently looked. Ned would sell his soul for one other thing: menswear.

Even with how worn down he seemed at his roommate, Darcy looked _stellar_ , and Ned was sure that most of their classmates would have to take a long hard glimpse at their own sexuality as soon as he made his appearance. The thick length of _dark_ brown hair on the top of his head that was only getting longer was casually slicked back, and his outfit perfectly represented his personality. All black, save for the occasional shock of bright magenta that showed in the cuff of his sleeves when they were rolled up and in his collar, along with the brave decision to wear socks of the same color- revealed by intentionally high-ankled cigarette pants. Oh, and his shoes made Ned want to cry tears of joy; black leather derby shoes, (and was he actually tearing up just by looking at him?) He probably would when he got to see the outfit paired with the sleek black bomber jacket that Darcy had planned, and he’d look even better if he stopped losing weight so rapidly, poor guy.

Victor looked like a fucking model, as proven by the way Darcy tensed up and almost choked when he walked in the room. His dark blue shirt was a blessed choice, paired with black dress pants to match the thin stripes, (Ned was going to get him black Chinos, but he’d read somewhere that it was apparently a fashion faux pas.) The navy blue brogues were one of the best decisions he’d ever made, and he wanted to frame this look on his wall.

Wally would look iconic if it weren’t for the shoes ruining the entire mood. He still did, but Ned’s conscience wouldn’t let him go anywhere like this if he could help it; the dress shirt made his eyes pop almost as much as the deep bottle green pants that he’d been so excited about. The trousers were _plaid_ , was that not “eccentric” enough? Even if he had a brown belt or something that would even out the shoes, but he didn’t, and Ned had a reputation to build.

In short, it had been to the benefit of humanity when Ned used the excuse of his birthday to drag his boys into various clothing stores to shop for this night when they went out.

He stood up, having had enough of this argument that didn’t seem to be going anywhere to still his friend, who was striking multiple poses in an effort to look even cooler. He put his hands on Wally’s shoulders and looked him dead in the eye, desperate for a compromise.

“Wallace, will you change shoes if I let you borrow a pair of white suspenders? You can even keep them; I never wear them anyway.”

“Totally!”

“Thank God. Lose the belt and I’ll be right back.”

Wally cocked an eyebrow and grinned. “Ooh, talk dirty to me, Ned.”

 _“Stop._ _"_

 

Ned returned a little later after weaving through excitable classmates, all trying to one up each other with how many girls they could snag, carrying the suspenders and black oxfords and praying that they would fit properly. Soon enough, he was admiring the puppies in a magnificent line, filled to the brim with enthusiasm. If he really was going to be a stereotypical gay, he was going to do it right by any means necessary. They’d easily be the best dressed boys at the dance, knowing for a fact that the rest of their peers were dressed like waiters, and the blow to his bank account had been completely worth it.

“Ned, if you take any more pictures of us, I’m gonna start calling you Mum.”

“Don’t you dare, let me enjoy my moment!”

“ _Your_ moment? I was under the impression that we were the ones going out tonight.”

“You do look like a proud mum.”

“I am proud!”

Conor spoke up again from Darcy’s desk chair, and Ned was honestly kind of surprised that he even stuck around for so long to watch the preparations unfold. “I’m surprised you’re even going, Darce; it sounded like you really didn’t want to.”

Darcy ran a hand through his perfect hair as he looked in the mirror, and Ned knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he wouldn’t stay single for long as soon as he could help it. He wondered if Victor knew what he was missing out on. “Like I would miss an opportunity to dance and look this good.”

Wally beamed. “Can’t argue with that; we’re _hot!”_

Victor wrapped an arm around his shoulders. “Yeah, so hot in fact, that we should get going. It’s almost seven and the shuttle’s gonna be leaving soon.”

Darcy rolled his eyes. “Fuck that, I wouldn’t be caught dead on a bus with those ruffians; we’re getting the train.”

Victor narrowed his eyes at him through the mirror. “Fine, let’s just get out of here. I’m sure Ned and Conor are ready for their _alone time.”_ He looked back at the two with a devilish wink.

“I’ll punch you, Victor, I don’t care what you’re wearing.” Conor said, crossing his arms over his chest.

“I second that, just don’t get blood on his clothes.”

 

After ushering all of them out of the dorm, Ned took advantage of Victor and Wally’s conversation about finally getting to meet the infamous Sarah to corner Darcy. He smoothed out the front of his dress shirt, worriedly noting how pronounced his collar bones had become underneath the fabric.

He looked into Darcy’s eyes, glad that at least he’d seemed to get better sleep nowadays. “Hey, have _fun,_ okay? You deserve it.”

Darcy gave him a small smile in return. “I’ll do my best.”

 

* * *

 

The school was so quiet without everyone around, and the silence sounded like it’s own kind of music. There weren’t any loud teenagers to interrupt this peace, no fighting, slamming doors, or hollering about whatever the hell. There were probably a few boys that wouldn’t be leaving for the night, but for the most part, the world had finally righted itself.

As soon as the last students and most of the faculty filtered out for the evening, Conor closed the door and gathered Ned in his arms, who was more than happy to oblige. He took both hands in his own, but it only lasted for a second before Ned ran his hands through the back of Conor’s freshly cut hair, tugging at the roots and kissing him with fervor. The taller slid his hands up his hoodie and groaned into his mouth, Ned swallowing the sound like he’d never get enough (and lord help him, he never would.) The past two months had been excellent practice for the both of the two, giving them short moments to learn how to make the other fall apart. 

Conor drifted his fingertips along Ned’s ribcage cause he knew it always made him shiver, lowering his mouth to press little kisses just underneath his jaw. He nipped at the skin there just once, lightly enough to avoid leaving a mark but hard enough to cause a little moan to slip past his lips. The sound always spurred his boyfriend further on, removing one hand to pull the collar of his shirt to the side, giving him access to the sensitive skin on his shoulder and leaving a few light bruises where he knew he was allowed to. Ned’s hands travelled down below the back of Conor’s waistband, gathering up two handfuls of his amazing ass. _Honestly,_ he loved his butt almost as much as he loved Conor, and it would take the end of life as he knew it before he’d forget about it.

Conor licked a stripe along his neck and up to his chin, and as gross as it could be in theory, he’d never want anyone alive to hear the trembling sound that came out of his throat. The first time he did that, Ned had completely unraveled under his hand, biting down hard on Conor’s fingers in his mouth to keep himself from moaning through the walls. He still had the scars to prove it.

After a few moments that made him weak in the knees, wondering why on earth they were still standing, Conor mumbled against his lips, “Let’s go to the spot under the stage.”

It took Ned another second to register what he just said. Sighing, he whined, “Why, I have everything I need right here.” Was he going to use the opportunity of a nearly empty school and complete privacy to his advantage? Abso-fucking-lutely.

“I like it down there, it feels more open. I might even play something for you, no charge.”

Ugh, could he be any more perfect? “Alright then, I think it’s safe to say we won’t be...interrupted.” He bit down on Conor’s bottom lip for emphasis, using his soft groan to slide his tongue between his lips. He liked to think he’d gotten marginally better at flirting, and Conor seemed to agree.

He pulled away, panting slightly, and Ned marvelled at how he could make his partner lose his breath so easily. “You’ll have to get your tongue out of my mouth if you wanna go anywhere.”

“Make me, Masters.”

Conor suddenly pulled him roughly against his hips, his hands tightening their grip around Ned's waist and growled lowly in his ear, “I'll meet you down there; I have a surprise for you.”

This made Ned so dizzy that he kind of wanted to faint, but knew he couldn’t argue any longer once Conor let him go. He didn’t even know how he managed to make his way down to the auditorium, praying that he wouldn’t run into anyone who would witness how flushed he’d become.

 

Having arrived in their less-than-secret space, illuminated by the dim light and spray painted walls, Ned put a record on and flipped through the vinyl to keep himself occupied. He already knew all of them by heart, but he had to get himself under control to avoid jumping Conor as soon as he walked through the door. He didn’t have a clue as to what he had in store for them, but for his boyfriend’s secret intentions, he’d have to wait.

He wasn’t disappointed in the slightest that they weren’t going to the dance, although he’d do almost, _almost_ anything to see his well-dressed friends have fun on the dance floor. He hoped he’d get to meet Sarah one day, because any girl who could be in a relationship with Wally for so long already had his respect. He loved the guy, but she must’ve either had the patience of a saint or been just as easily excitable as he was.

He’d never even tried to dance before; it just didn’t hold any interest for him, but at the same time, it was one of those opportunities that he and Conor couldn’t have. Straight people really didn’t know how good they had it, carrying with them the ability to go anywhere and show off as many public displays of affection as they pleased. He wondered if Wally and Darcy would get together to dance, but thought it unlikely under the watchful eyes of their peers.

“Hey, Ned.”

Ned turned at the sound of Conor’s sweet voice through the music, and his heart stopped.

There he was, the man of his dreams, leaning against the doorway like an image that stepped out of his dizziest daydreams, adorned in the teal shirt he’d bought for him, black trousers with matching monk-strap shoes and _dear God in heaven,_ was that a leather jacket? Ned’s heart began to beat uncomfortably in his chest to make up for the lack of oxygen.

Conor was breathtaking, hands in his pockets and looking straight at him despite the light pink dusting on his cheeks.

_Oh my God, oh my God, oh my GOD you’re so fucking perfect._

Conor gave him a shy smile, looking down for just a second before gazing back at him through his dark eyelashes. “You really think so?”

Did he say that out loud? Ned steadied himself on the table behind him for fear of collapsing on the concrete floor; it wasn’t good for his health to be with someone so...so _everything._

“I- yeah, I can’t even- holy shit you look incredible.” Words were evidently failing him, so to prove his point, Ned darted over to him with lighting speed, unable to do anything but catch his lips and run his hands all over him. Conor kissed back with just as much eagerness with a smile on his face and the whole planet melted away. This moment was electric, deadly yet keeping him alive and suddenly nothing was more important than keeping him right there for as long as possible.

Conor raised a hand to Ned’s face, separating himself away slightly to lift his chin and meet his eyes. Christ, those eyes could keep him in place until the universe decided to call it quits. “I didn’t come down here just to kiss you, ya know.”

If this wasn’t the fullest extent of the surprise, then Ned _really_ didn’t know what to expect. What more could he ask for? This was more than enough, and he would’ve been happy to just stare at him for the rest of the night. “If you’re here for any reason other than to have me suck you off in this outfit, I’ll be floored.”

Conor broke into a laugh that sounded like the seasons changing. “Not quite; or at least, not yet.” He moved further into the room and Ned almost couldn’t let go, his gravitational pull was strong enough to rip the moon out of the sky. As soon as he was somewhat of a safe distance away, he took a slow breath (while Ned could hardly find his own,) and his blush deepened. He was actually nervous about whatever this was and it was so cute that Ned might really start crying this time. Before he had the chance, Conor removed his jacket and reached his right hand toward him, looking deep into his eyes and said softly,

“Can I have this dance?”

Yep, Ned was crying. He couldn’t even be embarrassed about it because this moment, this image was so perfect and he loved Conor so much and he just couldn’t _handle it anymore._ He gazed back at Conor and all his perfection, his throat tightening up, choking back the tears that were blazing down his cheeks and said weakly, “I don’t know how to dance.”

Conor shrugged, seemingly fighting his own emotion and said with a tight voice, “Neither do I.”

So Ned took his outstretched hand, ignoring the way his own had begun to shake and let Conor pull him in against his chest. It didn’t feel real, Conor’s hand on his waist and his warm breath ruffling his hair, but if this was a dream, he couldn’t find it within himself to complain. He should’ve worried about crying all over this awesome shirt and tie, but he’d be damned if he let anything tear him away. 

Conor swayed them gently back and forth in time with the music, holding Ned as close as he could and placing a kiss on his forehead. The movement of his lips fluttering on his skin made Ned’s body light up, and he asked quietly, “Why're you crying, Neddie?”

Ned failed to hold back a happy sob and said with complete honesty in his heart, “Because you’re everything I could ever want.” It was true; God, he used to think he was all alone in the world and this boy proved him wrong every single day.

_I didn’t know I’d been lonely until I found a friend._

He didn’t miss the tear that rolled down his lover’s cheek and wiped it away with his thumb, flying when he leaned into the touch. He bent forward to lightly press their foreheads together and murmured like velvet, words that were only meant for them to hear, “You make me so happy, Ned. You always have, and I wanna be with you for as long as you’ll let me.”

This was it, this was the moment Ned had been waiting for to tell him everything that’s been living inside of him.

_Tell him you love him, because you always will._

But the words were stuck in his throat, cut off by more tears and he really _couldn’t_ stop crying. Fuck, he wanted to, he wanted to tell him how much he’d fallen in love with him and how he’d never be able to stop, but it was all he push himself to do to wrap his arms around Conor’s neck, holding him like he expected him to fade away. He bit his lip as more tears fell, his affection pouring out of his eyes and falling onto Conor’s shirt.

“You have me, Conor Masters.”

He couldn’t remember the last time he cried this much and he didn’t care. They couldn’t be as free as they wanted and it didn’t matter. Conor was his light at the end of the tunnel, and he never, ever wanted to let him go.

Ned loved him more than anything, and it was everything.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof I don't know about you, but my heart was RACING at the end of this one. Thank you all so much for your wonderful comments, my whole day gets better whenever I hear from you! I'm super glad you liked the last chapter, because more drama is on the way ;)
> 
> Next up, the dance from the puppy's point of view and Wesley finally makes his reappearance to shake things up. See you soon!
> 
> (P.S the song Victor and Darcy dance to is a slowed down version of Kanye's Flashing Lights. What a bop.)


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Have fun, okay?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dancing! Drama! Excitement?

 

Darcy wasn’t too terribly excited about the approaching evening, but the way Wally was literally vibrating in his seat during the train ride was infectious. He kept glancing out the window, as if expecting Sarah to appear on the other side of the glass, and Darcy couldn’t hold any spite in his voice when he told him to calm down more than once. Wally and Sarah had agreed to meet the group at Riverside once he convinced her that the night ahead was well worth the risk of getting caught as a non-student.

On the short walk from the station, Darcy kept a firm hand on his friend’s shoulder out of fear that he’d float into the dark sky from sheer excitement. His anticipation must’ve gotten to Victor as well, because he couldn’t stop grinning during their trip. His smile was blinding. 

When they finally reached the school, they saw Sarah waiting near a side door, her back turned to them and looking at her phone. Darcy knew that must’ve been her, judging by the way Wally was suddenly possessed with the speed of a cheetah and ditched the other two completely in favor of catching her off guard. He was impressed that Wally didn’t knock her over when he wrapped his arms around her middle, picked her up and spun her around two full turns, causing her to squeal in delighted surprise. When he finally set her back down, she whipped around to glare at him, but it only lasted for a second before her eyes softened and she matched his smile. 

As Darcy and Victor approached the two, Wally showered his girlfriend in soft kisses, completely ignoring her complaints about almost making her drop her phone. How Wally could never find any words to say when he was overcome with emotion was so endearing. She allowed it for a moment, and Darcy had half a mind to say something like, “This is so cute that I actually might throw up,” but he didn’t, and before long she pushed him away like he was a hyperactive puppy. 

She caught sight of the other two and blushed. “Wally, stop and introduce me to your friends already!”

Wally was unfazed, and Darcy realized that he’d never seen the guy get embarrassed under any circumstances. He stepped to the side, took Sarah’s hand in his own, and proudly proclaimed, “Boys, this is Sarah, the love of my life.”

She pulled her hand away to smack him on the arm, still blushing. “I told you to stop saying that to everyone! I drew the line after you told the new mailman.”

Wally wasn’t kidding when he said she was gorgeous; Sarah was stunningly pretty, like, actually bewitching. If Darcy had to take a guess, he’d say she was half Korean, with straight black hair that reached down the middle of her back and the darkest eyes he’d ever seen. She was dressed to the nines in a way that could make both Darcy and Ned shed a tear- a long, form fitting red dress that climbed up into a turtleneck, paired with a black faux fur coat. Her sharp acrylic nails were painted matte black, and he caught sight of little gold hoops that crawled their way up her ear when she touched her hair. She was taller than Wally, about Ned’s height, but maybe it was because of the killer heels she wore. 

She looked so...fucking _cool_ that Darcy was glad Victor shook her hand first, because he was stuck in time at her image. 

“Good to finally meet you; you’ve become kind of a legend in our friend group. I’m Victor. Darcy, close your mouth.”

He did so with a snap of his jaw, elbowing Victor in the ribs to extinguish his embarrassment when Wally snorted at his expense. “Sorry,” He began wearily, “It’s just...your outfit is _incredible._ I’m Darcy.” He thought that he may have just outed himself in a single sentence, but it was too late to turn back.

She smiled at him. “Thanks! I had to get my sister to smuggle me out of the house so my parents wouldn’t lock me up. You guys aren’t looking so bad yourselves; especially you, Wally, what the fuck are you wearing?”

Wally spun around once with his arms outstretched like a little kid who’d just raided his father’s closet. “Suspenders! Do you like it?”

“Yeah!” She said with as much enthusiasm. Her voice was lower than what Darcy expected, and it added to her enchanting demeanor. “Who dressed you?”

“What, you don’t think I could do this myself?”

The pointed look she gave him was that of a wise woman who couldn’t be fooled any longer. “Twelve years and you still think you can bullshit me? Knowing you, you’d probably show up naked if left unsupervised.”

“Don’t tempt him.” Victor said with a wink.

“Our fashion advisor, Edwin, wanted to make it known that he’s responsible for putting us together.” Darcy wished Ned was there. He’d feel so much more at ease in this thrilling environment, dodging the bustling teenagers that filed through the main doors.

“Well, where is he? I wanna personally thank him for making my boyfriend so presentable.” Wally’s smile could outshine the sun at this sentiment. “Although, we do look a bit like Christmas together.”

“It’s sure cold enough, let’s get inside before we freeze.” Victor said, leading the way with his natural air of confidence.

Darcy ducked under Victor’s arm as he held open the doors. “He and Conor aren’t coming tonight, but Ned will definitely want to meet you. Next time he’ll be sure to color coordinate your outfits.”

Sarah laughed, linking her arm with Wally’s. “I like him already.”

They entered the school, which had been transformed from an auditorium into an impressive dance hall. Whoever was in charge of decorating knew what they were doing, because the whole room was bathed in various shades of dark blue, deep purple and rich crimson lights, with pale yellow balloons that drifted to the ceiling and littered the floor. It didn’t have much of a spring vibe, but something in the light made the accents of Darcy’s outfit pop, and really, what could be more important? It also complimented the dreamy blue of Victor’s clothing, but he tried not to think about it too much. He promised Ned that he’d have fun tonight, and he was going to give it his best effort. 

The group settled around a circular table next to the wall, far enough away from the music to have a coherent conversation. Sarah took off her coat upon entry, revealing that the dress was sleeveless and golden bangles decorated her wrists. Darcy wanted to give her a round of applause. 

They barely had a chance to sit down before Wally took Sarah’s hands in both of his and said in one exhilarated breath, “Let’s be the first ones on the dance floor!”

She tugged roughly on his hands, causing him to slam down in his chair and pull it closer to her. “Not yet, people are still coming in. Let’s just hang out for a bit, I want to get to know the friends I’ve been hearing so much about!”

Darcy wondered what anyone could have to say about him. Tonight, he was sad, queer and very well dressed. What more was there?

Victor leaned back in his chair, slinging his elbow over the back and crossing one leg over the other. If he could stop looking so goddamn kingly, maybe Darcy could think properly. “Only good things, I hope.” 

It was Wally, who so rarely had a bad thing to say about _anyone_ , and Darcy was too distracted to be concerned about any word of mouth. “Tell us his exaggerated descriptions and we’ll tell you if he’s right or totally full of shit.”

Sarah thought for a moment, staring at Victor inquisitively. “He says that if he wasn’t around, you’d be the one who gets the party started. To me you seem...composed, but he says both of you have been teaching everyone else to have fun.”

This wasn’t wrong, but Darcy had found entirely different reasons to have fun lately. “Can’t argue with that. I’ve never seen Victor turn down an offer to go wild, even if he is captain and somehow in advanced classes.”

Victor rested his chin on his hand and looked straight into Darcy’s soul. “I think the same could be said about you nowadays, Lynch.”

Darcy rolled his eyes; he really didn’t feel like getting called out on his most recent antics. “Whatever.”

Sarah glanced between the both of them, a look of amusement on her face. “Actually, he mostly talks about you, Darcy.”

He shrugged. “That makes sense, we’re roommates.”

Victor grinned in obvious delight. “Please tell me what you’ve heard about him.”

He suddenly didn’t want to hear it. Sarah toyed with a long strand of silky hair, twirling it around her fingers in contemplation. “He says that you’re the respectable pretty boy with a rebellious streak who keeps him in check, and honestly, I should be thanking you. He’s a firecracker for sure, and judging by what he’s told me about the other guys he used to hang out with, I thought they’d have set the school on fire by now.”

Darcy kind of wanted to be offended by the term “pretty boy,” but he couldn’t summon any resentment for it. “Someone’s gotta do it, but I’d say Ned and Conor are pretty respectable too.”

Victor hummed. “I’m pretty sure Darcy and Ned schedule who’s gonna take the title of Mum of the Group each week. You should’ve seen the argument they had over what shoes Wally was gonna wear!”

“For the record, Ned and I were on the same page.”

Wally was too busy gazing lovingly at Sarah throughout this conversation to pay much attention, and none of them noticed the new and unwelcome presence until an obnoxious voice made itself known over the noise. 

“Wallace, my man! Tell me, who is this _fine_ piece accompanying you tonight? I didn’t think you had it in ya!”

Of course it was Weasel, a glimmer of pretentious trouble in his eyes. He sidestepped Wally’s chair, completely ignoring the other two and getting far too close to Sarah for everyone’s comfort. He put one hand on the table and the other over the back of her chair, and it was so disturbing that Darcy didn’t repress a shiver. “I’m Wesley Miller, but my friends call me Weasel. And who might you be? You’re too fetching not to know.”

Before any of the boys could make a single sound, Sarah was as quick as a whip. “Weasel, huh? A perfect nickname for someone so _slimy_ , don’t you think?” Wally stood up from his chair, an angry heat rising in his face, but Sarah put a calm hand on his arm to stop him. Apparently, she had this taken care of. 

Weasel didn’t flinch. “Aw, don’t be like that. Have a dance with me and maybe we can get to know each other a little. I promise, I’ll show you a better time than any of my friends over here.”

Sarah put on an exaggerated face like she was considering it, pursing her lips into a thoughtful expression. “Hm, I think I might have something that’ll help get my point across, just one sec.” She grabbed her clutch and dug around for a few seconds, evidently looking for something. 

“Ah, here it is!” She pulled out nothing but her manicured hand, quite vividly flipping him off with a radiant smile on her face. 

Weasel actually recoiled slightly at the gesture and Victor barked out a laugh, holding nothing back.

Sarah stood up and took Wally’s hand like he was a trophy. “Wally, my love, dance with me.”

Leaving Weasel with his jaw on the wood panelling and still leaning stupidly over the table, she whisked her boyfriend away and onto the dance floor. Wally took one last glaring look at the asshole who was trying not to blush and gave him a finger of his own, happily joining Sarah.

Weasel finally turned around, straightening out his very basic dress shirt. Victor spoke up before he could choke out anything else. “Congrats, man, on getting ruthlessly dragged only ten minutes in. You deserve a medal.”

Weasel stalked of with an elegant, “Go fuck yourself, Hines. I’ll be getting more ass tonight than you ever will.”

As soon as Darcy found his voice again, he spoke the truth. “She’s one of us.” He wanted that moment to be played on repeat at the next school assembly. He peered over to where the couple was dancing, and Sarah was kissing Wally with a passion, effectively proving her point to everyone within a ten kilometer radius.

“No doubt, she’s perfect for our boy.”

Darcy was struck with a worrying thought, and threw Victor a look of suspicion. “You didn’t get into any bets on who could get the most girls tonight, did you? I’ll lose all respect for you if you did something so barbaric.”

The blond looked offended at this accusation. “Darcy, how could you? I don’t need a competition to get girls; I do just fine on my own.”

Of course he did, Victor could seduce any girl in the world and it made Darcy’s skin prickle. “Whatever, I’m gonna get something to drink before the punch gets spiked.” He wanted to add a passive aggressive “See ya,” but thought better of it when he realized he’d have nowhere to go after retrieving said drink. 

He hated being alone with Victor, and where people usually got closer after sharing such heartfelt times together, Darcy still couldn’t handle the thought of his company after their last hour alone in the room upstairs. He just didn’t know how to act after all that, and he couldn’t measure where their friendship was headed. 

Party-goers had begun to dance after getting settled, and the rapidly heating crowd along with the energetic din in the room was starting to get to him. He wasn’t claustrophobic at all, but the way the atmosphere contrasted with his mood made him anxious. One of the reasons he didn’t want to come tonight was that he’d have to find a way to ignore the sight of Victor dancing with anyone else. He was determined not to be jealous; why would he be, when the other only danced with him to get into his head? He grabbed a cup of synthetically flavored punch, and after the first sip, he found himself hoping that whoever always took the plunge to add alcohol would do it soon.

Much to his own dismay, by the time he returned to the table Victor was still there, _still_ looking like he owned the place. Darcy sat down, opting to watch the growing mass of dancing teenagers and praying that the hairs rising on the back of his neck weren’t due to Victor’s eyes.

“You ever been to one of these dances before?”

Darcy sighed without knowing why exactly, it just felt natural. He turned around enough to make sure that Victor would hear him, but not far enough to actually look at him. “Yeah, and I can’t say that I had a good time; I was basically a wallflower.” He didn’t want to add that he’d been too nervous to ask anyone to dance at the time. These events were always so old-fashioned, and he was under the assumption that it was rare for a girl to ask a guy to dance first. “I looked just as dull as the rest of these fools.”

Victor laughed. “Now’s as good a time as any to break the habit. I can’t see any girls saying no to you when you look like this.”

_Please shut up._  

Was Victor trying to give him a heart attack? “Speak for yourself, what are you still doing here?”

“Conserving my energy. We have the whole night, after all.”

Darcy was thinking that his time was increasingly limited if he had to sit there and be under Victor’s eye for another second. Luckily, Wally and Sarah reappeared a minute later, both slightly out of breath with a flush across their cheeks. 

“Wally tells me you’re quite the dancer.” She extended a hand out to him. “Prove him right?”

_Oh thank God._

“Gladly.” He abandoned his punch on the table and took her hand, eternally grateful for their perfect timing. 

Darcy was beginning to think that low lighting and the promise of dancing was becoming some kind of vice for him, because as soon as he and Sarah got into standard position, he already felt more at ease. It wasn’t a slow song, by any means, but the beat was casual enough to warrant keeping the other close. 

The blue and purple lights bounced off of her hair and it was mesmerizing. “The way you roasted Weasel earlier was marvelous, you have my undying respect.”

She looked disgusted at the mention of his name and he almost regretted bringing it up. “Ugh, I’ll never _not_ be mad about guys like that. They think they can just do as they please and everyone tells them that they’re allowed to; that it makes them more of a man to be so disrespectful. Honestly, I should’ve kicked him in the balls, I’ve got the heels for it.”

Darcy couldn’t help but laugh at the image. “Promise that you’ll tell me before you do so I can figure out a way to take a video. He hasn’t bothered us in a while, but he’s always been a piece of shit.” She didn’t say anything to this, so he decided to change the subject. “Did Wally really say that I’m a pretty boy?”

“Absolutely, and he’s not wrong! If you haven’t noticed, there’s like, ten girls staring at you right now.”

He looked around the room, and unfortunately, she was right. He couldn’t remember ever wanting this kind of attention. 

“I hate being stared at, it feels like I’m on display.” He didn’t want to bring up the fact (or maybe it was just paranoia, who knows) that almost everyone in the room seemed to be looking at not just him, but Sarah, too. He knew he was dressed to impress, but Sarah looked she should’ve been walking down a runway.

She looked a little confused at this. “Then why’d you come?”

He gestured vaguely, and after quickly making sure that their steps were in time, he said, “Ned bought me this outfit, and it’d be a crime not to wear it at least once. Besides, I love to dance, so it shouldn’t pain me too much.” 

“Well, you’ll have plenty of options to choose from once we’re done here.”

“There are very few people here that I’d like to dance with, and one of them is your boyfriend. He became my unofficial dance partner after Ned’s birthday.”

“He told me about that! I heard you tore it up.”

“That was probably one of the best and worst nights of my life, but I think I found a passion in it. He didn’t tell you _everything,_ did he?”

Sarah only gave him a fraction of pity. “Hate to break it to you, but he always does. My condolences to your hangover.”

The song changed, but wasn’t something to actually put any energy into, (or to practice his “moves” as Wally called it,) and he was grateful to be able to keep up their conversation. Before he could wonder too heavily if she even knew about his feelings for Victor, he asked, “So, what’s the story with you and him?”

She gave him a look that screamed “Yikes,” but said instead, “Well, it’s a long one, and our meeting wasn’t exactly romantic.”

“I’d _love_ to hear it.”

“I wouldn’t even remember it if it hadn’t been such a...moment, I was four years old. I saw him wrestling with one of his brothers in his front lawn, and he’d just spit on Wally’s face.”

Darcy snickered. What more did he expect?

“It was time for me to go back home, but then he saw me and just gaped at me. Bad idea on his part, cause Jacob took the chance to spit right into his mouth. I didn’t even know what to think, but he got away and ran over to me, saliva still all over his face. He said, ‘Hi, I’m Wally! Who are you?’ And the first words I ever spoke to him were, ‘You’re gross!’”

Darcy had to take his hand off of her waist to put it over his mouth in a desperate attempt to keep his laughter from echoing out too loudly. He was nearly shaking under her hands, and she smiled like she knew exactly how ridiculous it was.

“It’s true! He didn’t even bat an eye though, he just smiled at me and said, ‘And you’re pretty!’ I tried to ditch him, but he kept knocking on my front door almost every day, and twelve years later, here we are.”

“That’s probably the best love story I’ve ever heard.”

“It’ll be one to tell the grandkids, no doubt about it.” A new song had begun to fill the hall, one that was much more upbeat, and Sarah took the initiative. “Finally, a real song! Show me what you got, Darcy.”

He didn’t have to be told twice, and she took the lead to some kind of loose, salsa-ish song, but as soon as he felt himself get into the swing of it, he took the reins again. This girl definitely had professional dance lessons, because in his limited experience, she had the most technical style of anyone he’d ever danced with. They playfully battled for dance dominance, spinning each other around and throwing themselves into daring positions across the floor. In no time, Darcy was smiling outside of himself and his confidence spiked. Sarah guided him along, placing his hands in the right spots as she moved effortlessly, effectively teaching him certain styles as they went. Her footwork was magnificent, and he took a mental note to ask for the number of whoever she learned from.

If people weren’t staring at them before, Darcy was certain that they were now. Whenever he glanced away from Sarah, (which he quickly realized he shouldn’t do for fear of getting left behind,) he met eyes on them everywhere he looked. He conveniently forgot to care, however; he was too busy climbing to the top of the world.  

The song ended in a flash, and somehow they ended up in the middle of the floor, panting and slightly red in the face. His heart was pounding too happily to be embarrassed, even though other parties had stilled to gawk at them. They could’ve at least applauded if they were going to make their eyes dry out from staring like that. Sarah was amazing, and she looked completely at ease amongst the whispers.

“ _Wow,_ I didn’t know this was a dance competition.”

“Does she even go to our school?”

“That’s so extra.”

She linked their arms together and led him back towards their table. “Sarah, that was unbelievable! How long have you been dancing, because there’s no way you’re self taught.”

Everything about this girl gave her a permanent air of confidence, and Darcy wanted to ask her where he could buy some. “I’ve been in all sorts of classes since I was nine; my mum insisted. You should consider it! I know natural talent when I see it.”

He sparkled at her praise and was practically humming once they reached the table, where only Wally was waiting for them. 

“Didn’t I tell you? I knew you guys would get along!”

Sarah sat comfortably in Wally’s lap, and Darcy wondered if she was still telling everyone in the vicinity who it was exactly that she was with, or if they were just on that level. “Are you the reason Wally’s surprisingly good at dancing?”

She straightened his bow tie affectionately and Wally kissed her knuckles. “Taught him everything he knows.”

He glanced around the room, slightly embarrassed at their public affection; though he was starting to get used to it after hanging around Ned and Conor for so long. He had a feeling he knew where Victor ran off to, and before long Darcy located him, dancing with a blonde girl in dangerously high heels that looked like she’d been crowned the queen of everything. Perfect for him. 

He didn’t get a chance to fall too deep into jealousy, because a minute later a blushing girl walked into his field of vision. She was pretty, with bright red-dyed ringlets and matching lipstick. She switched between looking at Darcy directly and eyeing her nails, but she seemed determined as she spat out in a rush, “I’m Hannah Woods, can- would you like to dance with me?”

Darcy felt for her. He didn’t know he’d be getting so many dance proposals in such a short timespan within his whole life, so he stood up and extended his hand. “I’m Darcy Lynch, and I’d be happy to.” He threw Wally an explicit _look_ as soon as he heard him whistle after them. 

She appeared take her first breath in quite some time, and he didn’t know what it was about him that could elicit such a response in anyone. But he welcomed the chance to remove any thought of a certain boy in blue shoes, and even happier to be given such an opportunity to dance. 

Maybe having fun tonight wouldn’t be as hard as he thought.

 

* * *

 

**Approximately fifteen minutes earlier**

 

Victor shook his head slightly as he and Wally watched Sarah and Darcy head out onto the dance floor. “Dude, I can’t believe you never told us how cool your girlfriend is.”

“What are you talking about? I never shut up about her!”

Victor gave him one of his special piercing gazes that not even Wally was immune to. He doubted anyone was, and fuck this guy for trying to know everyone’s business on any given day. Victor reminded him of his sisters sometimes, what with their burning desire to be in the know. Wally wasn’t really mad at him for it, though; he couldn’t imagine ever being upset with him. What a cool guy.

“It took you until winter break to even mention her to us! What’s that about?”

Wally turned away from him in favor of looking at the shining light of beauty that Sarah was. She looked to be complaining about something, and he loved that cold fire in her eyes. He would never be ashamed of something that was so special, not when he woke up every day with the knowledge that she was waiting for him back home. 

It was just…“Well, everyone used to make fun of me for talking about her all the time. Most blokes don’t even believe me when I say we’re together, and if they do, they say that I’m whipped or some shit. Which is true, but in a good way. So eventually I just stopped bringing her up, I guess.”

He glanced back at Victor, who was now staring at the couple along with him. He had...something in his eyes, but Wally had never been good at reading people. 

“That makes sense, but I’m surprised you still didn’t say anything when...” He lowered his voice a little, and Wally had to lean across the table to hear him. “When Ned and Conor got together.”

Occasionally Wally forgot that they were sworn under oath to keep Ned and Conor’s relationship a secret. It didn’t make any sense, not when they were so good together and so obviously in love. “I suppose. I just didn’t wanna rain on their parade.”

He didn’t consider himself to be a particularly secretive person, but after seventeen years of growing up in a house where everyone was trying to get into your personal shit while simultaneously not having enough time for each other, it was hard to know when to bring up life details like that. 

Darcy laughed at something Sarah said, and it looked like they were getting along swimmingly.

Victor eyed him, giving him a soft smile. “You really love her, huh?”

Where the hell did _that_ come from? Yeah, obviously, but unless he missed something, he had no clue how the conversation ended up here. “Er, yeah, she’s my soulmate! I’m gonna marry her one day.”

Victor gazed back at the dance floor, but it seemed like he was thinking hard about something. “Don’t you think it’s wild how you all have found that _one_ person so soon?”

Wally didn’t follow. “No, man! What’s meant to be will be and all that shit.”

A saucy song that didn’t exactly match their conversation started up over the speakers, and Wally followed Victor’s line of sight when his eyebrows flew up, his overall expression unchanging. Darcy and Sarah had finally begun dancing in the one way they really wanted to, and Wally was transfixed like he was seeing her for the first time all over again. He wanted to watch her dance forever, because the way she moved could make the most lost souls forget their worries. She must’ve been some kind of queen or goddess in a past life, and he was far beyond feeling lucky or surprised that he got to be with her, because he couldn’t imagine it any other way. 

By the time the song ended, there was a ring of people surrounding them, but he caught a glimpse of them beaming the way only dancers did. He heard a metal cap twisting, and turned to see Victor taking a long swig out of a flask. He let out a sharp breath after a difficult swallow, and said in a slightly choked voice, “And that’s my cue to finally get in on the action. Hang on to this for me, will ya?”

Wally caught the flask with one hand, looked around, and took a sip before sliding it in his pocket. It was the whiskey he got Victor for Christmas. 

 

* * *

 

Darcy was quickly catching on to the fact that he always lost track of time when he danced, but if his breathlessness and the sweat coating his skin was anything to go by, he could’ve been on the move for hours. In the vague span of time after Hannah had asked him to dance, no less than three more girls requested his company on the floor, all of them looking increasingly enthusiastic. Being under such close observation made him nervous, but more than that, he was just too pleased to be on the dance floor to give it any more thought. He couldn’t blame them for being disappointed in the usual stock of boys, but they’d been vehemently cornering him after every song, and he felt awful that he couldn’t remember all their names. He felt himself getting better and more confident with every tune that played, but it wasn’t like he was the only guy there; why were they hounding him so much? It must’ve been the spectacular outfit.

He was most certainly on the verge of dehydration, so when the next girl approached him with a hopeful look in her eyes, he guiltily declined with a breathless, “Sorry, I just gotta take a break for a few.” He thought about directing her towards Victor, but he hadn’t seen him for a while, too happily distracted to keep an eye on him. 

She waved him off and said kindly, “Alright, but I’m next in line.”

Fuck, please tell him there wasn’t actually a line for him, because that would be humiliating; he didn’t even want to think about why.

He burned a path over to the water cooler and downed two cups in less than ten seconds. It was a hellish temperature in the auditorium, as everyone else appeared to finally be getting into spirit (he spotted Weasel dancing atrociously somewhere off to the side, and the girl he was with looked extremely close to ditching him.) He wasn’t anxious, but it was getting a little difficult to breathe, so he threw away his cup and began a search for a quieter space to collect his thoughts. 

Darcy was actually having a good time, who would’ve thought? He wished he’d discovered his love of dancing much sooner in life, because he could only dream of being on Sarah’s level right now. She and Wally were gathering just as much attention, and it was clear that they’d been dancing together for years. His heart hadn’t felt this light without the aid of alcohol in what felt like forever, and he never wanted to stop feeling like this. As soon as he got another chance to talk to his mum, he’d tell her all about this newfound passion, confident that she’d help him get on a new path to success in the only thing that made him feel so weightless. 

He turned a corner down a length of deserted hallway, wondering if these girls had any kind of expectations for him outside of a simple dance. He wasn’t sure what it was exactly that he should’ve been saying or doing. The knowledge of being so sought after by strangers (or anyone, for that matter,) was absolutely foreign, and he hoped no one thought he was a player for it. The last thing he wanted was to be seen as someone like Weasel.

He walked aimlessly and stared at the tile beneath his feet, thinking about external perception and the expectations of others, when a sound raised his head up to see something that he’d do anything to forget.

Victor was backed up against a wall about three yards away from him, under the hands and mouth of the girl he’d been dancing with what felt like hours ago. It was dark, the only light filtering in through the windows, but there was no way Darcy could’ve missed the way their mouths moved hungrily against each other; her hands ran up the expanse of his chest and Victor’s fingers were splayed across her back, pressing her closer to him. 

Darcy was paralyzed, his blood freezing in his veins. A familiar sour taste filled his mouth as he caught of flash of Victor’s tongue with hers, and his heart jumped into his throat, beating like it was worried it would stop if it didn’t try to escape from his chest. He wished it would because he felt so dizzy, rooted to that one spot. 

He should leave, he should really go because he’d never wanted to see this, but the feeling of dread seeping into his stomach and leaking out of his pores like sweat kept his feet from moving. She moved her mouth below Victor’s jaw and began to nibble at his neck and Darcy felt himself shaking. Why should he have had to see this and why couldn’t he just get out of there?

Victor let out the lowest of moans when she appeared to suck particularly hard on his skin and he slowly opened his eyes, directly onto Darcy, and his heart finally stopped. He’d been caught catching them, Victor saw him, Victor _knew,_ but he couldn’t move. Even in the low light, he could see Victor’s lidded brown eyes, lost in the moment and he wanted to fall to his knees. This moment felt like an eternity as they looked at each other, but his heartbreaking crush still didn’t look away, remaining silent after being interrupted and Darcy just couldn’t. He was frozen, watching the girl’s hands take what was hers and this was so fucked up and he _had_ to leave, to act like it was nothing, but it was too much for him to handle. 

The girl’s right hand gripped the back of Victor’s hair and pulled his head forcefully back, giving her more access to claim his skin. His eyes remained locked on Darcy’s even when he bit his bottom lip, already raw. Her other hand dipped lower down to grab his crotch and _oh my God, he’s hard and this is so fucked up_ and his eyes finally fluttered shut, a groan slipping past his lips.

Darcy was crumbling, but by some miracle his legs began moving on their own, his eyes rolling without his permission and a ghost of a smirk playing on his mouth even though his whole face felt numb. At least his body was apparently handling the situation better than he could, and he hoped Victor saw it so he could try to pretend he wasn’t falling apart later.

He turned the corner and walked back down the hall, despite not being even a little conscious of the world around him. He didn’t see his feet moving or the tile slipping underneath his strides, because all that existed behind his eyes, and would likely haunt him for the rest of his life, was the perfect vision of Victor unravelling under someone else’s touch.

Darcy found himself outside, not knowing how he got there and falling to pieces against a brick wall some distance away from the door. The air was frigid, contrasting with the hot tears burning down his skin. Every good thing he’d ever felt left his body in a shock wave, and he shouldn’t feel this terrible; no one alive should’ve been able to feel this way but he did and it _hurt so much_.

He should’ve known, he _did_ know that something like this would happen, but he never expected it to be so soon and he didn’t understand why the fuck he had to see it. He knew that Victor was straight and that he would never like Darcy like that, but why did the universe have to prove it to him in such a cruel way? He would never be able to touch him like she could and he thought he was fading away into dust.  

Darcy was crying, but all the sound in his body had evaporated. He faced the wall with his forearms pressing against the cold stone, tears dripping into steam onto the ground. Why did he have to hurt so much? He knew that Victor wouldn’t wait for him or anything (wait for _what_ exactly, he didn’t know,) that Darcy didn’t own him or his perfect hands or his blinding smile by any means, but maybe he had let himself hope that Victor could feel even a fraction of the spark he felt for him. 

God, his head was spinning and the panic was threatening to knock him out, and the way he’d flown on the dance floor earlier was causing him to crash painfully down to earth. The hard planet was cold and unforgiving against his back and all he wanted to do was melt into the wall, never to be seen again. What was it about that girl, or any girl that could make Victor want her the way Darcy wanted him? He’d been having a good time, but the way he’d danced with Victor before lived in the back of his mind since it happened, and nothing so far had been able to make him feel so euphoric.

Why did he have to be queer? Why did it have to be one of his best friends? Why couldn’t he be satisfied with any of the girls who willingly threw themselves at someone who was so broken? He began to sob, the pain racking in his lungs and out of his mouth, and he numbly prayed that no one would find him like this. 

 

It could’ve been a minute, or even a whole year until his eyes dried out and he started to feel a cold numbness take over his body. 

He didn’t want to feel this way; he didn’t want to feel _anything,_ so he didn’t. 

He could’ve been angry, furious at himself for falling so easily, or even angry with the girl who didn’t know how lucky she was, but he couldn’t. Anyone would be better for him than Darcy, and Victor knew that, he’d proven it, even if he didn’t mean to. He couldn’t be upset with him for being straight, and he didn’t have the energy to be mad at himself, so he let the wind turn his sweat into ice until his breathing slowed. 

What was he supposed to do after this? He could very well get the train back home and bury himself under his covers and stay there until the end of term, but he didn’t want to give up yet. But how could he go back inside and pretend that nothing happened, dance with people he couldn’t even see? 

_Have fun, okay?_

It felt impossible, but something within his mind told him to try. Maybe the only thing that could get him through this was to simply _try_ to be okay, just for tonight. He could shatter to pieces tomorrow, and maybe it was his conscience or even a higher entity speaking to him, reminding him that he had the opportunity to do the only thing that gave him peace, even if it was temporary. Dancing was the only vice that filled him with the same pleasure that the subject of his dreams did, and if he had even an ounce of self control left, he should hang on for dear life.

He turned around to wipe the remaining tears from his cheeks and spotted a water fountain a couple yards away. The water was freezing and the night only made it worse, but its harshness brought him back to...something bordering on coherence, cooling on his eyes and hiding proof of yet another breakdown. He’d really have to stop crying so much if he was going to get through the rest of the year.

There was only one thing to do, and before he could change his mind, he burst through the double doors and shouldered his way back into the auditorium. Everyone looked like ghosts and he felt slightly dizzy, his eyes readjusting to the flashing lights and moving bodies.

But if anything could keep him there, it was that Darcy was sick of being alone. 

He couldn’t think clearly, hell, he could hardly see, but out of sheer luck his eyes fell onto Wally and Sarah at their table, the former drinking out of a flask. Perfect. 

He was acting on spinal reflex alone at this point, but in a second he stood in front of Wally, not sparing a thought to how wrecked he must look and gestured towards the flask. 

“Give it here.”

Wally looked surprised at his sudden, possibly intimidating presence, perplexity crossing over his face. “Well, hello to you too. Having fun?”

Darcy swiped the metal from his hand. “I’m about to have a lot more.”

Wally gave him a sympathetic smile. “That kinda night?”

In lieu of a verbal response, Darcy took three solid swigs from the container, nearly draining it. Drinking undiluted liquor was easy when he couldn’t taste anything. The idea that he should probably try to be more discreet crossed his mind, but he hoped fate would give him this pass; he deserved it. Later he might consider adding potential alcoholism to his list of problems, but he was too numb to care about anything for the next twelve hours.

Before he could raise the flask to his mouth again, Wally snatched it from his grip and Sarah’s eyes widened. “Woah, slow down there! What happened?”

Darcy didn’t have time to be questioned, and he was back to searching the floor for a suitable distraction. “Nothing. I’ll see you later.”

He didn’t give his friends a chance to say another word to him before he was out on the wood panelling, weaving along the sidelines. The whiskey burned his throat and set his lungs on fire, but it scorched a sensation into his veins, so he considered it a success. 

After a second of trying to focus on anyone’s faces, he realized that he was already walking towards a girl that leaned against the wall, looking like she’d rather be anywhere else. He caught her eyes, and he hoped that he didn’t look as awful as he felt while his brain processed the visual information required to actually take in her appearance. 

She wore a long sleeved black dress that stopped at her thighs, accentuated by a silver chain around her waist. If Darcy could come up with any kind of rational thought, he would’ve been confused as to why no one had asked her to dance yet. She was super pretty, with a chubby figure and her dress hugged her in all the right places; her wavy black hair was tied into space buns and his eyes drifted to her dark purple lipstick. 

Focusing on her beauty must’ve given him a little more ease, because by the time he was actually in front of her, breath found its way into his chest with less effort. She didn’t look too pleased in his wordless company, so he cleared his throat and gently extended his hand.

“Care to dance?”

She looked at his hand wearily before eyeing him with palpable suspicion. “What for? There are plenty of other girls who’d like to dance with you.”

A smile crept up on his face before he could properly register it. He retracted his hand, but stayed firmly put. “Cause you look like you’re having as much fun as I am. I’m Darcy.”

She still seemed distrustful of his intentions. “I know who you are; you’ve already made a name for yourself. You’ll have more fun with any of the other girls.”

This sounded gut-wrenchingly familiar, and his heartache softened at these words. “I’m not looking for the attention. I’m kind of sick of it, to be honest with you, and I think both of us could use a dance. What’s your name?”

“Freyja.” She said simply, looking around the air until her gaze halted somewhere to her right. Darcy followed her eyes to where a group of girls was staring at them and whispering conspiratorially to each other. “Did Miranda put you up to this?”

Though surprised at the foreign accusation, he recognized Frejya’s hesitation. He raised his hand again in a last ditch effort. “No, _I_ put me up to this. And Freyja, it would make my whole night if you’d dance with me, just for a little while.” He wanted to bite his tongue until it bled after the last words flew out of his mouth.

His sincerity seemed to convince her enough, because after another moment of contemplation, she took his hand and let him lead her out onto the floor.

The timing was perfect; a new song had begun to bounce around the room, something heavy and deeply club-appropriate, and he found himself getting back into the rhythm without trying. He vaguely thought that he should try to make some conversation before he let himself get carried away, and it was probably the alcohol stealing his words, but it was all he could do to keep himself balanced, using this girl as a vessel to hold close to his chest and move to the beat. 

Freyja still seemed apprehensive, but perhaps his forwardness was contagious, because after a few lines of radio song that he hadn’t heard in forever, she relaxed in his arms and even looked like she was trying to stifle a smile. Darcy grabbed her hand and spun her around quickly before pulling her back to his side with one hand on her waist, smirking when she gasped in surprise. He guided her hips to move in sync with his own, getting her into rhythm and twirling her to return her front to his chest. 

She was definitely smiling now, and though neither of them were even close to professional dancers, they begin to move and roll together in a way that felt so natural. Darcy had a hazy inkling that he should keep himself together and stop short of actually grinding, but any and all thought left his mind when she took both of his hands to raise them above her head, softly releasing them and prompting him to glide his palms down her arms and get a hold of her lower back. He could feel her sweating through the back of her dress and it only spurred him on; he could finally breathe again. 

The lights were low, the music was loud, whiskey was thrumming through his whole body and it did so well to drown out his thoughts. He was swept away under Freyja’s touch in his hair, and Darcy didn’t care if anyone was watching or whatever Victor was doing; all that mattered was that they keep moving. His entire essence was moving all on it’s own, and thank God Freyja was getting into it as he was. Her features were light and she looked genuinely elated to be moving so much.  

To close out the song, he pressed another hand higher up her spine and dipped her low to the floor, incredibly pleased at the look of happy surprise on her face. He’d never dipped anyone before this evening and he was so glad he hadn’t thrown anyone onto the ground yet. He gently brought her back up and they stilled, breathing heavily against each other.

“Thanks for that.” He murmured gratefully in her ear. Dancing was medicine and Darcy could never get enough. 

She spoke through labored breaths, “No problem! Your reputation precedes you, holy _shit_.”

Darcy brought them back to a formal dancing position. Now that he considered himself to be in a more logical frame of mind, he took the opportunity of a less intensive song to properly look at her features. His eyes met hazel under thick eyebrows, a few curly strands falling into her face. He guided a dark lock of hair away from her cheek and over her ear without really thinking about it. 

“How could I have a reputation when I’ve only been here for what, two hours?”

Freyja blushed at the contact and averted her eyes. “Are you kidding? All the girls have been talking about you. I’m worried I’m gonna have a target on my back tomorrow.”

He looked around at the other patrons and wished everyone would just keep their eyes on their own partners for like, a second. The group of whispering girls were looking just as scandalized, if not more. “What’s their problem, anyway?”

She sighed and Darcy felt her tense up slightly. “There’s a bet going around that no one would ask me to dance tonight. They didn’t even try to keep it a secret.”

He felt a twinge of resentment take hold in his gut. Why were teenagers the worst people in the world? “That’s incredibly fucked up. Anyone who doesn’t wanna dance with you must be out of their mind.”

He could sense Freyja physically closing up, and he held her closer subconsciously. Her eyes returned to his and she said honestly, confidently, “No one wants to dance with a fat girl, Darcy.”

She said it like she knew it was true, and Darcy was taken aback. People were so blinded by their prejudice and it pissed him off to no end. Maybe he wasn’t the only one who felt so defeated all the time, after all. He leaned in a little closer, hoping that he wasn’t overstepping any boundaries in order to prove his point as he said, “You’re gorgeous, Freyja. Don’t let anyone tell you different. Thank you for dancing with me.” 

He pulled back when her eyes began to glimmer with emotion; sure he was buzzed, but that wasn’t an excuse to cross a line. He must’ve hit on something painful, because he’d seen that look in the mirror. 

A hazy look clouded her eyes as she gazed at him, and before he could apologize, Freyja closed the distance between them, kissing him softly. 

Darcy quietly gasped against her mouth, genuinely surprised, and she ripped away from him, her face reddening under the lights. She looked terrified. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry, I should _not_ have done that. Woah, that was super out of line, I’m sorry! Yeah- no, you’d probably rather kiss anyone else and that really wasn’t cool of me and you don’t even know me and- I should go. Sorry.”

Darcy grabbed Freyja’s hand before she could run away like she obviously wanted to do and bridged the gap between them, lenient in his hold enough so she could move back from him if she needed. His heart was racing and there was something simmering in his chest, and he wasn’t ready to let go of this feeling. He could feel her heat below his chin and he struggled to string together any reasonable thought. 

He pressed his mouth lightly to her forehead and said earnestly, just loud enough to hear over the music, “Chill out, Freyja. I don’t mind.”

She was so still that Darcy had to coerce her into moving slowly with the beat again, but after a moment, she finally inhaled. “You sure?”

“Totally.” He didn’t know what he was doing or what he was even trying to do, but he never wanted anyone to feel like he did. “Fuck all these people; I’d really like to keep dancing with you.” He leaned back to smile at her, and she seemed to believe him. 

“Well shit, if your fanclub didn’t hate me before, they definitely do now.”

Darcy either groaned or laugh, he couldn’t be sure. “ _Please_ don’t call them my that, or I’ll keel over from embarrassment. I’ve never had this many eyes on me before, and it’s creeping me out.”

She looked like she was preventing herself from glancing around. “Every year the girls flock around certain blokes like lions and it’s _so_ annoying. You’re probably in the top three this year; you must be popular over at Woodhill.”

He laughed for certain at this. The concept of any popularity on his part was ridiculous. “On the contrary, I really just keep to myself. I swear, sometimes- actually, most of the time, I wish I was invisible.”

Freyja blinked once in disbelief. Was it really so hard to believe that he had a hard time keeping people around? “You wouldn’t know it by looking at you. By the way, I meant to ask earlier, have you been drinking? You smell like whiskey.”

He felt his face heat up incrementally. He hadn’t forgotten the reason he felt the dire urge to drink in the first place. “Yeah, sorry. I promise it didn’t impede my judgement, though.”

_Oh my God, is that even true?_

The last time he had thought anything through properly felt like a century ago. He was probably out of his mind, but Frejya just rolled her eyes. “Whatever, I’m sure almost everyone’s tipsy. The teachers are good for nothing; they’re probably drunk too.”

 

They kept on dancing, picking up the pace and getting right back into it once a faster song began. Darcy loved this; moving his body and allowing himself be free. Freyja was actually really good once she relaxed, and nothing, _nothing_ had felt so healing. Her curves fit perfectly in Darcy’s hands and she smelled amazing. He was still trying to push away the image of Victor in the hall, forcing it into a blurry image in the corner of his mind, and when he ignored all of that, he noticed that he really was having fun, just like he promised.

His life would be so much easier if he was attracted to girls, too, and maybe it would finally help him get over Victor. As soon as this thought entered his mind under the music however, he felt a lurch of guilt in his heart. Wouldn’t that be using Freyja, if it turned out that he didn’t feel a certain way after all? He just wanted to know something, _anything_ , unquestionably like everyone else seemed to. Why did everything have to be so confusing?

With the encouragement of the heavy sound and Freyja’s heartbeat against his chest, he decided that there was only one way to know for sure. He wouldn’t have to feel bad about it if she made his heart light up the same way Victor did, right?

Darcy tilted her chin up with one hand, searching deep in her eyes for any hesitation, and when he found none he asked delicately, before he could change his mind, “Can I kiss you?”

Her lips were parted, and her hazel eyes glowed under the purple lights. In place of affirmation, she kissed him first, this time more optimistically. After a moment, she pulled back, looking unsure and Darcy hoped his face didn’t reflect the same hesitancy. He wasn’t sure what to say or do next, still experiencing the hazy effects of whiskey and dance, so before he could think about back-tracking again, he connected their lips once more. 

He could taste her lipstick and she could probably taste the alcohol, but she threaded her fingers through the longer part of his hair and for a second, he thought he was floating. He tugged her closer, loosely thinking that it would be kind of strange if they stopped moving, and almost gasped again when she opened her mouth, inviting him in. He’d never done this before, with the thrum of music humming in his chest and the heat of flashing lights and moving bodies, but he took a chance and licked at her bottom lip, and she pulled at his roots a little harder.

This was cool, this was _really_ cool. His fingers toyed with the chain around her waist and he tried not to think about their potential audience or anything even remotely related to Victor. But _oh, fabulous,_ as soon as his name has popped into his mind, so did his crystal clear image, and Darcy suddenly couldn’t think about anything else as he kissed the girl right in front of him. 

This couldn’t be right; it was definitely against some kind of social code to kiss someone while thinking about someone else. But Victor’s eyes and the way he licked his lips was like a raging fire behind Darcy’s eyes, making his heart beat erratically. He broke away from Freyja’s mouth, knowing that if he kept up that train of thought, this would be so unfair to her.

His intrusive thoughts must’ve showed on his face, because Freyja leaned back and said sheepishly, “Sorry, I got kinda carried away.”

“Yeah, me too.” And she had no idea how many meanings this phrase had for him.

She laughed and it was really cute, especially when she moved her hand to run her thumb across his lips. “Jeez, you’re covered in my lipstick, and I don’t think purple’s your color.”

This forced a laugh out of his own mouth against her hand, surprising himself. He could like her for sure; she was beautiful, he liked dancing with her, he _did_ like kissing her, and she was as socially different as the people he loved. But the kiss just left him more confused than ever before. What a rollercoaster this night turned out to be.

After wiping his mouth with his knuckles, he spun her to match with a beat he’d forgotten about, and they continued dancing. He had no clue what he was or what he wanted or what the hell he should’ve been doing, but all he could do at this moment was hope for the best and pray that he’d figure it out soon.

 

* * *

 

Wally was delightfully experiencing the familiar sensations of a whiskey buzz, and decided that this particular liquor was his favorite. He loved crowds, loud music, the element of excitement around him, and an excuse to be as energetic as he wanted. He was so happy to be here tonight, but his sole source of enjoyment really took place in his stunning girlfriend. Girlfriend wasn’t even the right word for her; she was his constant. 

Yeah, she looked amazing tonight, but she looked just as perfect in her pyjamas, freshly woken up with her hair a complete wreck (her words) just like he’d seen her in previous years, in early mornings and quiet moments before he’d been known to jump out of her window. 

Sarah was totally sober, and Wally was occupied with shamelessly staring at her, watching her complain about her parents or her new dance instructor who obviously didn’t know what the fuck he was talking about. 

She was interrupted by Victor’s sudden appearance at their table, looking...disheveled. 

Wally smiled up at him. “Hey man, where you been?”

He shrugged. “Out and about. Where’s Lynch?”

He hadn’t seen him in a while, either; he was too busy savoring every moment he had with Sarah. She seemed to know exactly where their friend was, though, and silently pointed to a spot on the dance floor with a smirk on her face. He and Victor turned to look, and there he was, kissing a girl they’d never seen before. Wally barked out a laugh; in no reality had he seen this coming. He didn’t ask Darcy about his crush on Victor, knowing that he’d talk about it only if he wanted to, but it looks like his roommate had found a way to get over it. Good for him. 

Victor ran a hand through his already messy hair, and Wally couldn’t see his face. “Huh. Alright then.” He turned back to him and Sarah. “I’m taking off; I want my flask back.”

Wally produced it from his pocket, giving Victor an apologetic look. “Sorry, mate, but it’s long gone. You should know better not to trust me by now.”

Victor sighed. “Are you serious? I don’t know if I should worry more about you or Darcy. Sarah gets it next time, I’ll see you guys later.” 

He wanted to offer to get the group back together and leave at the same time, but Darcy looked busy, and he wasn’t done admiring Sarah for the evening. “You sure? It’s kinda late; I’m sure they’ll be kicking everybody out soon, anyway.”

“Nah, I’m worn out.”

Sarah snorted and Wally said in the most mischievous voice he could muster, “Is that so? Whose exactly got you so ‘worn out?’”

Victor put his hands in his pocket, already turning away. “Keep dreaming, Wallace. I’ll see you tomorrow. Nice meeting you Sarah, I hope we can hang out again.”

Something must’ve been going on with him, because without waiting for an answer, he was already gone, disappearing into the crowd. 

 

* * *

 

After saying goodbye to Freyja with the promise to keep in touch once he got his phone back, Darcy and Wally waited with Sarah for her ride home. According to her, she’d had to bribe her older sister generously to take such a long drive to and from the school, but judging by the heartfelt farewell she and Wally shared that made Darcy feel like he should look away, it had been worth it. 

When the lights in the auditorium had been switched back to life and the music dimmed substantially, Darcy couldn’t help but be disappointed, as was Freyja. She wasn’t nearly as standoffish as she first appeared to be; the more they danced together and got to know each other, the more lightweight and bubbly she became. Darcy liked that about her. They kissed again outside the door, and it was great, but so weird at the same time. As much as he wished he could dance forever, he was exhausted and grateful to get away from the noise and be alone with his thoughts.

Well, as alone as one could be with Wally. They skillfully avoided the shuttle and scurried off to the train station. Darcy didn’t know what to think of Victor leaving early, but he supposed with a lingering resentment that getting busy in deserted hallways must really take a lot out of a person. 

“Well that was fun!” Wally exclaimed without a sign of fatigue in his body as they walked in the chilly night air. It felt very different from when Darcy was crying against a brick wall, and he didn’t know how something so traumatic could feel so far away. 

“Yeah, I suppose it was.” A hurricane would be a better word to describe it. 

“You suppose? I didn’t hallucinate you kissing a girl back there, did I?”

“No, you didn’t.” Darcy wasn’t entirely sure of this fact, though. Did any of that really happen, or was he trapped in some kind of vivid fever dream? He could’ve been riding the escalator into heaven or hell right now and he wouldn’t even know it. Was he doing the right thing, or was he getting his emotions mixed up? How was he supposed to know the difference between genuine feelings and happy distractions?

“Hey, you feelin’ okay?” Darcy looked down at Wally, and the softness in his eyes brought him back down to earth. 

“Yeah, I’m just super tired. It’s been the craziest fucking night.”

“Do you wanna tell me why you stole my flask and drank like you thought the world was ending?”

Darcy considered this, but he couldn’t find the words to describe it even if he tried; he was still picking apart all of the imagery from the past few hours. Sarah’s dress, the hopeful looks on all those girl’s faces, the way Victor’s eyebrows furrowed and the color of Freyja’s eyes. Tomorrow he’d need someone to process with, when he woke up and unavoidably fell apart at the notion of seeing the source of his confusion again, but for now, all he wanted to do was sleep.

“Not really.”

Wally placed a firm hand on his shoulder, and they walked to the train station in a peaceful silence. This is what he loved about his roommate; he never pressed for information if it wasn’t willingly given. He was actually good at reading those kinds of cues, and they’d learned to exist together in occasional quiet moments.

He’d figure it out tomorrow.

 

* * *

 

The locker room was considerably more lively after practice on Monday morning, and Wesley was glad for any new event that didn’t involve the team getting punished for what was obviously just a hilarious joke. Practice sucked particularly hard that morning for the same reason; Pascal was still throwing a fit over his team getting Saturday off after the dance, complaining that such delinquents didn’t deserve any leeway. Whatever, that guy really needed to learn how to laugh at himself for once; he couldn’t be mad about having his shit harmlessly moved around _forever._

Peyton Walsh won the two-hundred and fifty quid that they’d pooled together as a reward for dancing with the most girls, only beating his brother by one.

“You don’t even deserve this! Girls love twins, everybody knows that; you had an unfair advantage.” Charlie said, reluctantly handing Peyton a fistful of cash.

“Aw, don’t be sore just cause you stepped on a few toes. It was a valiant effort.” Peyton said, straightening out the bills to fan himself with an air of royalty. 

“Does Victor get a share for having the most hickeys?” Murphy quipped, eyeing Victor’s bare neck. 

The blond buttoned up his shirt for the day and replied humbly, “Not unless someone bet on it, and if they did, I sure wasn’t a part of it.”

Crawford walked over to him and gave him a pat on the back. “Think of it as a consolation prize for dancing with the _least_ number of girls. Tell us who she was already, everybody’s _dyin’_ to know.”

Victor rolled his eyes. “I don’t kiss and tell. It’s not like you’d know her anyway.” And that was apparently that on that. Wesley would rip his fingernails off before admitting it, but he was still confused and bitter that he and Victor weren’t friends anymore, and likely wouldn’t be again for quite some time, if ever. What did his new friends have that Wesley didn’t? His own current friends were fine, he had fun with them, but he missed Victor’s company. 

“He’s just sayin that cause he doesn’t remember her name.”

“You’re one to talk, you were too drunk to remember _anything!_ ”

“I remember Peters getting kicked out by a teacher.”

The team was bickering amongst themselves, and though Wesley was usually the one to initiate any and all locker room banter, he noticed that the only ones who remained silent were Wally and Conor. He could never resist the temptation to rile them up, especially Masters, who continued to show him up during practice nearly every day. 

Wesley snuck up on him to slam his locker shut in front of his face. “So, Masters, I noticed that you were _suspiciously_ absent during the dance. Wanna tell us what you were up to instead?”

The shorter boy didn’t even flinch. He slipped on his undershirt and stood in front of Wesley to face him head on. Finally, a challenge. “And I heard that you were _suspiciously_ embarrassing yourself. Feel like sharing?”

The other guys who noticed the potential confrontation laughed at Masters’ comeback, and it always made him bristle. Who the fuck did this guy think he was?

“He got you there, mate, I almost thought you were having a stroke.” The other Walsh twin said amongst another round of snickers. Wesley’s plan to get a good jab at Masters wasn’t panning out like he expected. 

“Look, all I’m saying is that you and a certain _someone_ missed out! You shoulda seen Lynch, he’d have won the cash if he was still around; apparently he has more game than any of us.” Ah, that seemed to do it. Conor’s mouth tightened and his eyes flashed, and Wesley didn’t try to hide a smirk.

See, on his way into the dance, Wesley had overheard Darcy saying something about Roche and Masters _both_ not being in attendance, and the way he’d said it raised skeptical flags in Wesley’s mind.

Wally was behind Conor in a second. He didn’t look aggressive, but he was firm in his stance. “Don’t get pissy just cause everyone saw you dancing like a fuckin’ chicken, I’m sure we’ll all forget about it soon enough!”

Shit, Wesley couldn’t think of a thing to say to him; nothing could touch a guy who’d evidently been hiding a supremely hot girlfriend all this time. They used to be friends, too. 

He shrugged, calling his loss until another day. “Okay, okay, I’m just having a bit of fun. I know girls aren’t really your thing anyway, Masters.”

 

Wesley wasn’t done being spiteful of everyone upstaging him all the time, and none of his friends would shut up about that one girl ditching him on Friday. Who cared, she was stuck up and ugly anyway, and it was her loss for leaving him mid-sentence when he was chatting her up about the team. 

So when he saw the usual group of misfits sitting at their usual table during lunch on Tuesday, he couldn’t resist stirring up some trouble. He really must’ve been feeling better lately. 

He squeezed in between Wally and Darcy on their bench and threw a genial arm around Lynch’s shoulders. There was nothing but a textbook in front of him, so it wasn’t like he was busy with something important.

“Darcy Lynch, man of the hour! Tell me, when did you get so good at impressing women? You’re the last guy I’d expect to be such a player.” Lynch looked _disgusted_ at his presence, and it only fueled Wesley’s trouble-maker instincts. 

Before Darcy could say anything, Victor stood up with both hands on the surface of the table, a hard look in his eyes. “Time to go, Weasel.” 

“What’re you getting all defensive for? I only came here to congratulate him on a job well done.” Every one of them looked either irritated or exasperated, and Darcy seemed like he was trying not to burst into flames. 

“Ya know,” Wesley began, leaning closer to Lynch after dramatically glancing around at the surrounding groups, “I was honestly starting to think you were a queer, too. Proved me wrong, though, didn’t you?”

Everyone except he and Ned were standing now, and this was _interesting!_ Truth be told, he didn’t know anything about the kid whatsoever; he had no idea which way he swung and he really didn’t care, but Lynch had always been a sissy and he was too pretty for a bloke. Wesley knew he wasn’t allowed to fuck with Roche anymore, but maybe he could make a new toy out of the second year before he graduated. He’d been looking for something to distract him, and apparently he just struck a nerve. 

Darcy slowly turned his head to look at him, and his eyes were filled with a cold fire. How cute. “Get your hand off of me, Weasel.”

“How come? We’re buddies, right?”

Lynch raised his eyebrows and before Wesley could even blink, he felt a white hot pain in his right hand. Shit, when did he even move? Wesley whipped his hand away, cradling it against his chest automatically, and yep, the little shit dislocated his pinky. He’d be impressed if it didn’t hurt so fucking much.

“Whoo, okay! Message _received!_ ” He stood up, feeling lightheaded but worked a grin on his face all the same. “I’ll catch you later, but I don’t get what you all are so upset about. When was the last time any of you took a joke?”

He left with their eyes on him and pins and needles shooting through his hand. He hoped it wouldn’t impede practice too much, but getting under their skin was so worth it. 

 

He’d been feeling a lot more hopeful of the immediate and distant future after Christmas holiday with Jamie, but Wesley was sick and tired of feeling so inferior to everybody. The dance sure didn’t help his confidence, and practice wasn’t any different. Conor was still a top-tier player, he was still hanging out with the friends he stole, he was _still_ better than Wesley in almost every way, and Wesley still wasn’t happy. 

None of it was fair! He’d lost everything within a single year, so why couldn’t he have one thingfor himself? 

And then there was Ned and Conor, who he faithfully left alone true to Victor’s demands, and everything about them made him feel uneasy. They were both gay, so it would make a whole lot of sense if they were together. He’d never seen them _do_ anything in public; the only thing Wesley heard about them was that they didn’t go to the dance, and Ned still hung around during practice on most days. It wasn’t enough to actually tell anybody about, but come on, they were _gay roommates-_ they at least had to be messing around, as much as the idea made him want to cover his ears and scream as loud as he could.

And who did Victor think he was, walking around with bruises on his neck and not even bragging about it? There had to be something wrong with him.

There was something wrong with _all_ of them. That group was too secretive, they kept to themselves too much, and he’d never seen them hangout in any common areas. What were they doing? What were they talking about? Wesley was bored and frustrated, and the first years weren’t any fun to bother.

It had to be something to do with Masters and Roche, right? They were all weirdly protective of Ned, and something about the way they acted around each other told Wesley that they had something to hide. He wasn’t _watching_ the group or anything, but whenever he saw them during meals or practice, they kept sharing knowing looks or laughing at inside jokes. He never felt so out of the loop, even when it had nothing to do with him.

It just wasn’t... fair. Why did everyone else get to be happy while he got left behind? Why had everything been taken from him when he did nothing wrong? Wesley was just being himself, and there was nothing different about it, so why was it such a big deal? He didn’t _really_ care if Masters and Roche were together or whatever it was that they were hiding, he was just tired of being second best and swallowing everyone else’s success, wondering what happened that changed his life so much.

He used to have everything, he used to be the best. He used to have real friends.

Well, what was he going to do about it? Wesley was a man of action, taking charge just like his father, and this hadn’t changed. He didn’t care about real motives or why exactly he began forming a plan to shake things up, it was just in his nature. It’s who he was.  

He was going to take control.

 

* * *

 

“Come in.” The school’s pastor (or counselor, whatever he was) called politely through his office door.

Wesley opened the door, one hand in his pocket and peering through the opening. “Sorry to bother you, Paster Doran. Do you have a minute?”

Doran seemed surprised at his visitor, looking up from the thick bible on his desk. Typical. “Not at all, Wesley. What can I do for you?” 

Wesley took the invitation to enter his office and closed the door behind him. He’d only been in this office once before, a couple days after the beginning of term to talk about his dad when he’d wanted nothing less. It was small, bookshelves stocked with various religious texts lined the walls and the room felt cramped and stuffy. There were crosses and Jesus themed paraphernalia all over the place; were all religious people this over the top? 

“Well, Pastor, there’s something I’ve been kind of...concerned about lately.”

Doran raised his eyebrows and closed the book before sliding it to the edge of his small wooden desk. He was a small, short man with a timid demeanor, and Wesley had an idea of how to get under his skin. “Take a seat. What’s on your mind?”

Wesley sat in the chair across from him, putting on his best show of apprehension. He looked down at his hands and picked at his nails (avoiding the one that Lynch nearly broke the week before.) “I’ve been thinking a lot about...morals, ya know? And I didn’t know who else to talk to about it. You know a lot about that kinda thing, right?”

Doran chucked and laced his fingers together on the dark wood. “I like to think I do, yes.”

Wesley looked to the side, his eyes on a glass cross on the desk. “Well, how do I put this, everyone has some sense of what’s right and wrong, yeah? Things that we should do and the things we shouldn’t? There are these things that everyone agrees are wrong, like killing and shoplifting.”

His eyebrows knitted together. “Yes, but I’m not sure I follow.”

Wesley ran a hand through his hair and took a breath. He had to walk into the point he was trying to make slowly, carefully. “Like, there are things that no one feels good doing or hearing about. Everyone has a concept of morals, even if they look a little different. But at the end of the day, there are certain things that everyone knows is wrong on _some_ level. I’m not the nicest guy you’ll ever meet, but even I know when I see something that bothers me. Something that just...doesn’t sit right with me.”

He looked back at the pastor, who was now gazing thoughtfully at him in concern. “Have you seen something that worries you, Wesley?”

It always felt super weird when anyone outside of his family called him by his given name. “Yeah, and...I think everyone feels some amount of responsibility when they see something that goes against their morals, especially the ones that everyone knows about. I don’t usually like to get in anyone’s business, but I’ve become aware of something that puts a bad taste in my mouth, and I can’t really ignore it any longer. And I wanna help, you know? I know some people do things just cause they’re...misguided, or they think they don’t have any other choice, like stealing.”

Doran kept looking at him; Wesley definitely had his attention now. “It’s good that you’re thinking about all this, it shows that you’re growing into a responsible person. So, what happened? What did you see?”

“Well, it kinda started a while ago, when everyone found out that Conor Masters is a...a homosexual.” The golden word, it always struck a chord with bible-thumpers. “Remember that?”

Doran’s mouth tightened into a thin line. He looked tense. “Yes, yes I do.”

“I sort of thought that after he ditched school and didn’t come back until the middle of the Senior Cup, they wouldn’t let him play anymore. It would’ve been the right thing to do, and everyone knows we’re not allowed to leave school without permission. But he didn’t get into trouble, and yeah we won the match, but because of that, everyone seemed to forget about the whole thing.” Wesley crossed his arms over his chest and focused on one of the bookshelves. 

“I tried to ignore it for a while and no one brought it up again. But that kind of thing makes _everyone_ uncomfortable, right? I mean, we’re on a team with this guy, we share a locker room with him and all that. But you can’t kick someone off the team for feeling uncomfortable nowadays. I can’t explain it, but something about it just feels...wrong to me, ya know? Like seeing a house on fire and all you can do is watch.” 

“What did you see, Wesley?”

He fought hard to hide a grin, determinedly turning his mouth down at the corners in a hesitant expression. “Well at first, I thought maybe we were wrong. He never talked about it again, and everything seemed normal. But then, I saw…” He paused for dramatic effect. “Wow, this is actually super embarrassing to say out loud. Pastor Doran, I uh…”

“I saw Conor kissing Ned Roche on the bleachers.”

Holy shit, the look on Doran’s face almost made Weasel ruin the whole act; he could feel tears at the corner of his eyes from trying to hold in his laughter, but it would help his schtick look more convincing. The pastor’s eyes widened comically and his whole body tensed up. He finally took in a deep breath, resting his forehead on his hands.

Doran peered back him, looking as concerned as Wesley pretended to be. “Thank you for letting me know. You’re doing the right thing.”

_Checkmate._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like an evil genius plotting Wesley's diabolical plan >:)
> 
> (I promise, this is the last breakdown Darcy's gonna have for a while.)
> 
> Thank you SO MUCH for your amazing comments! Some of them make me laugh so goddamn hard, you don't even know <3


	28. Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The funny thing about “normal” is that you don’t know it’s even “normal” until something unpredictable comes along like a freight train to change it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this one's quite a bit shorter than most chapters, but it has a healthy dose of drama to make up for the lack of word count ;)

 

_I wonder, if I become famous enough as an author, or a key component in the rebellion against capitalism, if anyone will think to preserve my journals. I imagine that museums are on their way to becoming obsolete, so in another 75 years or so, will my innermost thoughts as a queer societal malcontent be on display within some virtual archive system? Will people be able to instantly transfer information into their brains at that point, and will they read about how queer and emotional I am with their eyes closed? I wonder if my thoughts on the current educational system will even matter at that point, but maybe someone, somewhere will find my musings important._

 

* * *

 

“Okay, so, _hah-_ tell me about that part again, because…” Conor couldn’t finish his sentence; he was too busy snickering on his bed, an arm slung over his eyes and shaking with sudden delight. 

“That’s just...so-” He broke into another fit of giggles, much to Darcy’s genuine confusion.

“I’m sorry, _which_ part? Cause I don’t know what you think is so fucking funny.”

“Just take it from the top, because you’re right, that’s a whole mess to process. Conor, stop being such an ass.” Ned said to his left, likely rolling his eyes.

“No! I’m not going over that shit again, you heard me both times.”

Conor was still chortling from above, and Darcy wondered if it was just second-hand embarrassment that pushed him over the edge of madness. He eyed Ned warily. “Can you tell me why your boyfriend can’t keep himself together? I wouldn’t have let him stay if I knew he was gonna laugh at me this much.”

Ned sighed, but Darcy could hear the smirk in his voice. “He’s not laughing at you, he’s laughing at Victor.” This was proven by another round of glee, evidently triggered by the very name of their current topic of conversation. Darcy couldn’t understand why, though; if he was going to laugh at anyone after that catastrophic story, it should’ve been himself.

He woke up that morning ready to burst with the onslaught of memories and emotions from the previous night swirling around his mind like a particularly dangerous cyclone. If he hadn’t dragged Ned back to his and Conor’s dorm after breakfast, he would’ve exploded with the sheer force of confusion and embarrassment. He didn’t speak a word on the way (and thankfully, Ned only asked once,) his singular explanation after shutting the door behind them being, “There’s so much I need to tell you about right now.”

And then Conor came in shortly after, probably because he couldn’t bear to be apart from Ned for more than ten minutes, and Darcy let him stay purely out of the goodness of his heart. He had to begin his tale from the beginning, and there wasn’t a chance in hell that he would speak those words for a third time. Even if he wasn’t inches away from blocking out the night from his memory entirely, he hoped he’d never have to tell another living soul.

“Why? I’m the one who’s _this_ close,” Darcy pressed his thumb and index finger together, deliberately making contact between the two, “From flinging myself off the roof.”

“Because to put it simply for you, that’s pretty gay.”

He turned his head to give the side of Ned’s face the most bewildered look he could possibly come up with. While Conor was still chuckling himself silly on his own bed, Ned and Darcy were laying side by side on the floor with their legs lifted over each bed, facing opposite walls and staring at the dusty ceiling. He didn’t know how they came to this position, but maybe looking at the world from this angle would somehow help him make sense of the whole tragedy. 

“What’s gay about it besides me staring at him like I got struck by lighting?”

Conor finally calmed down enough to form a proper sentence. Darcy couldn’t see him for the most part, but his grin was obvious with every word. “Are you kidding me? Er, fellas, is it gay to make direct eye contact with your buddy while a girl kisses you and grabs your dick? _Aha!_ ” He lost it again, rolling over to bury his face in the pillow and sounding positively chuffed at the idea.

As deeply ashamed as he was to hear it said with such a lack of class, he couldn’t help but hide his own laughter behind his hands. So this is what friends were for; making all of your most humiliating moments sound less like a deadly omen and more like an uncomfortable night that one could joke about later. “Wow, that really was stupid, huh?”

“I’ll say. How long were you gazing into each other’s eyes for, exactly?”

“Shut _up,_ Ned. I could’ve been standing there until I turned fifty, for all I know.” The situation seemed much less dire now, but it didn’t assuage any of his hopelessness for the future. He didn’t even go to breakfast earlier, he just lurked outside the dining hall until the appropriate time arrived to snatch Ned from the group. “Considering how haunting that was for everyone involved, what am I supposed to do?”

“Hm, talk to him about it maybe?” Conor suggested, finally looking down on them with a healthy flush on his face.

Darcy took a moment to make sure those words actually came out of Conor’s mouth. _“Excuse me?_ What the fuck would I even say? ‘Hey, Victor, just wanted to catch up, see how things are going, maybe have a conversation about our cringeworthy moment before your fellatio on Friday night.’ I’d rather hope that one of us decomposes before I have to see him again.”

“Please, you don’t even know that’s what happened. The hickeys might be the worst of it.”

Hickeys? Good lord above, Darcy wanted to spend the rest of his life training to be an astronaut so he could slingshot himself into space in search for the nearest black hole. He put his hands back over his eyes to block out the image, but it only made it worse. “Yeah, no, I don’t know how I’m supposed to face him if he has hickeys the next time I see him. I assume my presence didn’t stop anything, because that’s the last I saw of him.” What kind of life would he live if that truly was the last thing he remembered of Victor Hines? Cruel, but merciful all the same.

Ned seemed strangely unconcerned about his crisis. “Well, either way, you have to stop drinking every time something weird happens; I don’t think your liver’s gonna make it if you don’t.”

“Wow, thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“I’d just want answers if I were you. Like, he didn’t say _anything_ when he saw you? Sounds shady to me.”

“I’m not sure that’s the right use of ‘shady,’ Conor, but you get points for trying.”

“He was probably just surprised that I was there, and the moment was too awkward to say anything.”

Conor sniggered again, and Darcy really hoped he wouldn’t lose his composure over it for a second time. “Awkward doesn’t exactly fit Victor’s description; when has he ever been embarrassed at any given moment?” 

“Have _you_ ever been caught making out with someone while the guy that’s crushing on you looks on in horror? Because from my perspective, it was pretty awful.”

“Anyway, let’s talk about Freyja. What’s the deal with that?”

Now that was a whole other situation to dissect. “Ugh _,_ I’m not sure. I was just...wrecked when I asked her to dance and I wasn’t thinking at all. But I like her; she’s cool and fun to be around, and she’s _supremely_ cute. I could’ve just approached her without thinking it through cause she was one of the only people there who wasn’t ogling me.”

“People were _ogling_ you? I knew that outfit was a good choice!”

“It was. I like this rug, by the way, where’d you get it?”

“Thrift shop.”

“Ooh, we should go thrifting sometime.”

“Definitely!”

Conor gave them a drawn out, overly exaggerated groan. “Can we stay on topic? I’m outta here if you two get into it about interior design again.”

“You weren’t invited in the first place.”

“It’s my room! So this girl, Freyja, do you think you really like her?”

Darcy sure did sigh a lot, didn’t he? “I don’t know! I’m pretty sure I do, but I was also quite distraught when I met her, so I dunno if that’s the best frame of reference to go with. But I’ve never had a crush on _anyone_ before all this, and the whole gay or bisexual thing is making me crazy. Conor, how did you know that you didn’t like girls?” He knew Ned’s story, but his friend had been lucky enough to think about that sort of thing much earlier in life.

Conor let out a long “Ehhhh” that really hit home with Darcy. “I could appreciate what people liked about them, and I suppose that I had a couple of almost-crushes. But honestly,” He nudged Ned’s foot with his own, and he would’ve missed the gesture if he hadn’t been looking at Conor from this peculiar angle. “Nothing compares.”

Darcy didn’t have to ask what he meant. He liked Freyja, sure, but it was impossible to know if his feelings for her were subdued by his affection (if he could even call it that, it was more like an unending wave of regret) for Victor. He’d known Victor longer, spent more time with him; he’d had months to develop his crush, even though it felt like falling off a cliff when it he realized it.

Ned lifted himself up on his elbows and looked at Darcy directly. “You don’t have to figure it out right now, just don’t lead her on if you don’t like her the way you think you should. But, at the same time, keep an open mind. It’s great if you really do like her, but you shouldn’t use that as a tactic to get over Victor, alright?”

And that was the home-run of this entire dilemma. Darcy hadn’t known the first thing about crushes until he decided to take a closer look at Victor, and it simultaneously felt like a split second and a hundred years when he figured out that those feelings weren’t fleeting. They had substance, a purpose; even if that purpose was making his life one calamity after another. So it was aggravatingly difficult to wade through the depths of _genuine feelings_ when he didn’t have a chance of getting to know Freyja properly until spring holiday. Which was actually only a few weeks away, now that he thought about it.

“So, tell me more about Sarah and her outfit.”

 

* * *

 

The room upstairs was starting to make Victor feel a little cramped. As much as he loved the private space to talk about and do anything they wanted, he wished spring would show up already, but it was finally mid-march and all that meant was an unyielding chill outside. All he wanted was to hang out in the open air; to breathe. He’d always felt like he had too much internal energy to be in any enclosed space for very long, and that’s why he started playing rugby in the first place. No matter how practiced he’d become at sitting still, his fingers would twitch ever so slightly at the sight of rain pouring against the glass of every window he passed by.

Or maybe it was the group’s current topic of debate that made him distinctly uneasy.

“I feel like an earthquake would be the best one to deal with.”

“Is there really a _best_ kind of natural disaster?”

“Yes, and that’s the one! You can prepare for it, and in places where they’re common, most people get through it alright.”

“Why are you all ignoring the obvious answer for the best possible catastrophe? Zombies, cause everything becomes free and you get to fight shit all the time!”

“Because that’s not a natural disaster, Wallace, that’s an apocalypse, and we’re not going there today.” Darcy appeared to be doing much better as of late, even after whatever the hell happened at the dance and Wesley’s lunch hour interruption a few days prior.

“Okay, what’s the worst one then, since you’re the authority of this conversation?” 

“Tsunamis, easily.”

“I dunno, I think a plague would be pretty bad. A tsunami’s over in a second, but an epidemic is...slow.”

“Okay, but picture this: you’re going about your day to day business, the weather’s nice, maybe you’re gonna go out for coffee with an old friend later, and everything’s fine. Maybe you wanna take a stroll on the beach that morning; I don’t know. And then all of a sudden, this _massive_ thirty meter wave shows up, interrupting your fabulous day, and you look up at it and you’re like, ‘Here we go, this is it. I’m definitely gonna die today.’ Argue all you want, but I’d rather have some kind of warning before disaster personally strikes me down.”

Darcy was kind of like a wave; a calm morning unexpectedly dissolved by a gigantic flood of emotion that no one had any idea was on the horizon. “Jesus, Darce, I get the feeling you’ve thought about this in depth quite a lot.”

Maybe he shouldn’t have said that, because Darcy tensed up minimally and looked up at him for a fraction of a second, before turning his gaze towards any of the others. Victor was beginning to think that there wasn’t a right moment to say _anything_ to him, lately.

“Sure, that scenario is terrifying, but which is worse- having your morning ruined by a huge wall of water, or the modern-day equivalent of a biblical plague, having to watch everybody you know die?”

_Wow,_ this conversation was really bumming him out; almost as much as the fact that he could count on one hand how many times he’d spoken to Darcy in the past month and a half.

“I think we’re far more prepared for a plague in the 21st century than we are for the earthquakes and landslides that cause tsunamis. Shit like that’s only getting worse with fracking and global warming!”

“I don’t know about that; I’m positive they’ve already found a cure for cancer but haven’t figured out how to properly market it yet. A plague would just mean less people to employ once AI takes over.” Ned and Darcy began their descent into the spiral that always preceded one of their famous political theory discussions. It was a time that Darcy without fail looked the most enthusiastic outside of dancing, and though the rest of the boys generally weren’t as interested, it was fun to watch the two go back and forth, fanning each other’s flames.

“Okay, but can you imagine the ice caps melting so suddenly that an enormous chunk of ice falls into the ocean and just _obliterates_ Norway or something?”

The stability of Victor’s friend group was melting, and he wondered if it would end up being Darcy or himself that fell into icy waters.

“Yes, and it’s gonna happen _soon.”_

Victor had been so pleased to see his group of friends get along like this; and after so much time, it was only natural that their bond with each other grew stronger. Honestly, he took full responsibility for getting them together, and he was determined to make sure they stayed that way, even after his graduation. But after his past interactions with Darcy since the start of February, he was no longer sure that he could say the same for him. He never looked at Victor with the same amount of excitement, only fear and apprehension. They used to have some sort of dynamic, even when they so rarely spent any time alone together; but now, his distant friend hardly ever spoke to him directly. These days he was always the first to go back to his dorm at the end of the night and the last person to speak before spoken to.

“You shouldn’t be worrying about Norway of all places, you should be worried about _us!_ We’re on a fucking island, and if the water level rises faster than we think it will, we might not even get a chance to escape. The rich might even be living in airships by then, and we’ll get ditched on the ground.”

He knew Darcy didn’t want to be alone with him, that he didn’t want to talk to him and look him in the eye, and it hurt to be ignored so spontaneously.

“So, realistically, how many civilians do you think they’ll let on board once shit gets too real down here?”

All of a sudden, and without any clue as to how it changed so rapidly, shit was becoming too real for Darcy to be friends with Victor.

“Oh, none at all. I’m sure they’ll come up with a loophole on passports or something and use it as an excuse to leave us behind.”

It wasn’t like he didn’t know why.

“Alright, expanding on that, how much of the population do you think they’ll bring when they colonize Mars or the moon? Rich and powerful people don’t mean shit when they have no one to control, right?”

But maybe it would feel better if he didn’t.

“Yeah, but mark my words, there will come a time when they don’t need us anymore.”

 

* * *

 

Kissing Conor Masters could become a full-time hobby. It didn’t matter what kind of day Ned just had, whether he felt irritated, morose, lethargic, or elated; kissing Conor never ceased to give him a kind of energy that was second to absolutely none. Sometimes it was in the room upstairs, the pool locker room, _occasionally_ it was in a supply closet after class hours, and most of the time they kissed in their bedroom. They were currently situated on top of their bed, and Ned was shimmering with this old and yet youthful sensation of sharing words that could only be communicated in this way. 

Conor had this ability to make Ned feel like a real teenager, gifting him with the years he thought he’d lost living alone. It was simple, chaste, how they stole these moments together in the short minutes they had between breakfast and the start of the day’s classes. In the span of these minutes, there was no heat, no fervor to travel to other places within each other. They remained in their school uniforms and Ned hated and loved it all at the same time, to tighten a tie and fasten a loose button beforehand. There wasn’t any desperation, just the quiet enjoyment of each other’s company in the transitory hours of the day; small kisses on Conor’s jaw and lazy pecks on his lips. It was soft and sleepy, and somehow it gave Ned the will to go on into the day. Conor’s mouth was the best form of caffeine, and honestly, that shit should’ve been regulated. Though, overdose didn’t sound like a bad idea.

Sometimes hands would drift, but never with the intention that only early mornings, late nights or Sundays had. Conor traced half-hearted lines over Ned’s knees and thighs, and sometimes his own fingertips found their way up Conor’s neck and pressed delicately under his chin. Every so often Ned opened his eyes just enough to make sure that these moments were real, and Conor, sensing his eyelashes fluttering, opened his own, mirroring the same hazy perfection that lived under his skin. 

Then they just gazed at each other like people who’d never learned how to speak properly, because they didn’t need words.

Ned wanted to capture every single one of these instances and put them in a box, where he could safely tuck them away to admire whenever it rained. These moments between seconds, the time that only existed for them to know and share before they had to return to earth, to school, to the real world.

He never thought that he’d be keen on making out like this and acting his age, kissing his boyfriend without further aim or resolve; but there he found himself, day after day, loving Conor as though he’d never get the chance again, or like they had all the time in the world.

So frequently he tried to build up the courage to tell Conor Masters that he loved him, but sometimes everything he needed to say was already pressed against his lips. He knew that Conor felt the same way, because that’s what love is: knowledge, a certainty without any need to explain it.

There wasn’t any time to say those painless words, anyway, because the bell just rang. And Conor either didn’t notice or couldn’t care less, because he kept up his mellow rhythm against every fiber of Ned’s being. 

“I’m pretty sure I didn’t imagine that.” Ned said, smiling against Conor’s unhindered mouth.

“Imagine what?”

He finally pulled away, but Conor followed softly, insistently. “The bell?”

“Come on, that’s the fifteen minute one. We still got time, yeah?”

Ned chuckled and placed two fingers over Conor’s mouth, enchanted at the little protest that escaped his throat. “Not nearly enough to get settled and actually _in_ our classrooms. Why am I the only one that has any self control?”

Conor kissed the fingers pressed against his lips, undeterred. “I don’t think you’ve got any of that, Neddie. I’m irresistible.”

Ned laughed, wondering how it was possible for a person to do that so often without any resulting consequences. Longer life, probably. “That’s true, but I still have more sense than you ever will.” He removed his fingers, which immediately grieved the loss of his partner’s warmth. Conor took the opportunity to lean in again, the delinquent, and Ned used his other hand to push him back against the mattress.

Conor stayed put this time and raised his arms in invitation. Sighing, as though that was a decent excuse for denying his own self-discipline, Ned leaned over him with his hands on either side of the bed to hold himself steady. “You’re for sure coming home with me for break tomorrow, right?”

“Yeah! I already told you, I got it sorted out.” Ned didn’t know the exact details of how he’d done so, but he was too thrilled to ask any questions. The time between winter holidays and the first breath of April passed by in the blink of an eye, and neither of them were in any position to miss each other already. In an automatic response to Conor’s hands on his waist, he leaned down to kiss him once more.

“What were you saying about self control?”

“I was saying that it’s time to get to class, Masters.” 

 

* * *

 

_There’s something to be said about the concept of “normal,” as I’m sure I’ve mentioned before. Never again do I want to think about what normal meant for me a year ago, with all of the synonyms and adjectives I could come up with to describe the concept of “loneliness.”_

_However, I could waste away coming up with words to appreciate my “new normal,” even though “new” isn’t really “new” when I’ve gotten so used to it and it’s been months at this point._

_“Normal” for me now is spending roughly ten percent of my time on my homework and studies while the other ninety percent is focused on shaping my world around my friends. I suppose there’s no way to shape my world around them when they’ve easily become the universe as a whole; it’s me that has to transform around them. I’m so acclimated to counting down the minutes until I can kiss Conor again, or waiting for the next installment of How Wally and Sarah Came to Be, or each evening’s round of debating on which of Victor’s dreams are dreams he actually dreamt and which ones are fabricated on the spot._

_Of course, there are things I really don’t want to become a regular part of daily life, like Darcy slowly distancing himself from Victor until the damage becomes irreversible, and Weasel’s sudden attention span focused on all of us. I see him, and I think he may be seeing us._

_*_

_*_

_*_

_The funny thing about “normal” is that you don’t know it’s even “normal” until something unpredictable comes along like a freight train to change it. This I should’ve known better than anyone._

 

* * *

 

Ned Roche was seething.

He knew what this feeling was, it had a name, and he’d experienced it before. It was the same sensation that burst forth from places he hadn’t known existed when he realized that his dad would never live in their house again, when he’d decided to get remarried on a whim, and the second before he attempted to punch Weasel in the face that one time. 

_I thought that now would be the best time to talk to you both. Have a seat, Ned._

The feeling of rage wasn’t foreign to Ned, but the way it came crashing down on him, slammed its weight upon his neck and shoulders and forced him through the floor was almost unheard of. As was how it seemed to battle with every other emotion that fought for dominance in his body; it pressed against pain, humiliation, and confusion until he felt the familiar panic threatening to bring him to his knees.

Panic and dread, those he was very friendly with. He’d had years to get used to emotions like those.

He couldn’t see and he didn’t know where he was going. He didn’t know what time it was or where the rest of his friends were, all he knew was that Conor was behind him and he needed to get _out._ He had to escape this hour, this uproar, this heartache, and for the first time since his lonely days back home, Ned wanted to run.

_I’m not usually the one to talk about rules of this school, but more about the rules of...life._

As he dizzily booked it up the stairs as high as they would take him, he wondered if something like this was a reason that Conor ran all the time. Maybe he wanted to be the one responsible for his heart beating out of his chest instead of letting it fly away on its own.

Either way, he found himself in the room upstairs, Conor hot on his tail and still unbelievably livid.

_You should know that I care very much about every student at Woodhill. Regardless of who they are, I want to help._

Conor closed the door behind him and Ned’s head began to swim. How? How did he know? They’d been so careful, and they had the best friends in the world behind them.

_But there are some things that everyone knows is wrong, or at the very least, should be kept away from school grounds._

And why the _fuck_ did anyone care? What business of theirs was it if they were different and in love; they weren’t hurting anyone. Fury took the place of panic now, rising up from the pit of his stomach. He couldn’t look at Conor’s face; he couldn’t look at anything. He couldn’t see the rain outside or the lights on the ceiling. He wondered when he started shaking.

_And there are others who worry about you too, or else I wouldn’t have known to talk to you._

He’d calculated every inch of distance between him and Conor since they got together, never letting their gazes linger or remain too close to each other for longer than was “acceptable.” Fuck that word, acceptable. There was nothing more right than for them to be within the other’s reach. But Ned never stopped looking, never stopped analyzing the faces around them to gauge if anyone knew or suspected. 

_I understand that you two might feel like you don’t have another choice, but you know that your choice is always the one that is best for you, the one that is right and with the Lord._

What the hell did anyone like that know about God? He talked to God every single day and his life had only gotten better since. Conor slowly stepped over to him, but Ned couldn’t recognize the look on his face. He paced burning footsteps into the floor, his trembling hands moving through his hair and over his eyes of their own accord. 

_I also have to consider the safety of other students, especially when you’re on the rugby team, Conor._

Once again, Ned’s life changed in an instant. Everything he thought he knew and the way things were suddenly fell apart, because somehow, Doran knew. _They_ knew, so soon after he’d finally convinced himself that they were safe here. He’d been so stupid to think that the comfort of Conor’s arms stretched out to the rest of this godforsaken school. 

_I don’t know how long this has been going on, but I have a responsibility to urge you both to not let it go any further. Things like this are never as serious as people think they are, so I don’t have any reason to bring my concerns your parents or Mr Curly yet. Sometimes, boys like yourselves can get carried away._

Conor stepped in front of him, halting his movement, but Ned couldn’t see him. He felt his hands on both of his shoulders, and it pushed him into the earth. He didn’t want to feel this heavy, this defeated so suddenly, and it was too much.

_However, in order to protect both of you from these...temptations, I’m working on having you assigned to separate rooms._

“Don’t _fucking_ touch me right now, Conor!”

He couldn’t see Conor’s sharp intake of breath, but he felt it. Blood pounded in his ears, drowning out everything except the words of that excuse for a pastor. What did Doran know, what did anyone know?

_I believe it’s the same for all of those like yourselves. You know it’s wrong, and I want to give you the opportunity to step away, to do what is best for you._

“What does anyone know what’s best for me?” These words dripped from Ned’s mouth like the angry tears running down his cheeks. Conor was the best thing that ever happened to him; there was nothing better than to be with him. Why did no one else know this, and why did they have to care?

_Take the holiday to think about it._

Conor’s hands left him, but it didn’t keep him from feeling any less crushed. The world that he’d waited all his life for was tumbling down around him, and there was nothing to be done. Ned thought he’d finally escaped danger, once and for all. He thought he and Conor could hide in their bed and wait out the silence until summer came, but like so many other things in his life, this idea was ripped away from him. He didn’t want to sleep without Conor, he didn’t want to be without his boyfriend, especially at the whim of someone who knew nothing about what they had.

Ned finally looked up. “Say something.”

He knew that Conor was still thinking; he was always quiet when faced with something that he hadn’t had the time to process. But Ned wanted answers, he wanted stability and to know that somehow, things were going to be alright. 

The look on his face was one that he’d only seen once before, the night he pushed Ned to the ground at Weasel’s intimidation. _Weasel_. Conor was so close to him, but as he searched Ned’s face for the answers he wanted, the light in his eyes became more distant. 

“What do we do?” He asked, looking for something, _anything_ to know what Conor was thinking. The last flicker of hope left his eyes.

“We could deny it.”

Ned took a step back, wanting to fall away into the floorboards. This was probably the obvious answer, but he’d erased the possibility of that being believable after he raced out of Doran’s office like his life depended on it. But more than that, Ned realized that he’d never denied his feelings for Conor, because no one asked and he never wanted to. 

Was it so easy for Conor to say he didn’t feel the same way for him?

“Are you serious?” Ned’s voice cracked, and he hoped his heart wouldn’t follow suit. “You’d tell everyone that we never had this?”

Conor’s eyebrows furrowed and he didn’t look away. “To be with you and on the team, yeah. I would.”

Without warning, the tears were replaced by something more worrisome, and far more dangerous. Ever tumultuous emotion spun around inside of him with nowhere to go, nothing to do but fall off his tongue. The wrath he’d recently become acquainted with made his brain fuzzy and it sparked out of his fingertips. He took what felt like a hundred steps back from Conor, and he felt so far away.

“The...team. Right, I hadn’t thought about what’s _actually_ important to you.” What he left their bed for every morning at five-thirty sharp. Why was rugby his first priority when Ned’s world was twisting and changing shape right before his eyes?

Conor put his hands in his pockets, and he stood up a little straighter. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’ve made it pretty clear. God forbid people find out that we’re together, or else you might not be able to play on the _school’s_ rugby team anymore.”

His eyes hardened. “Ned, that’s important to me.”

“Apparently! Otherwise, maybe you’d give a thought to how this changes everything for _us._ ” Did he really not know how full Ned’s life had become when they got together? How happy Conor made him every single day, regardless of locked doors and thin walls, and did it mean nothing to him?

“You wouldn’t understand, you don’t have anything to rely on like that.” Conor’s voice grew colder by the second. “You don’t have anything to work towards.”

Ned’s heart skipped a beat. Conor didn’t know how much effort he put into maintaining what they had, and if he did, it clearly wasn’t enough. He worked towards making Conor and their friends happy, pushing his limits and habits of solitude not just because he loved it, but because it was the right thing to do. “You’re right, I had _you_ for that!” 

Conor flinched, but he didn’t feel bad. Ned was angry, completely outraged at the injustice of it all. He cared so much about gaining the freedom to simply _be_ with Conor, but in a place like this, it wasn’t enough. “Don’t you know how...how scary it is to be with you here? You don’t get how hard I try to keep my head down, to make sure no one even looks at me twice so we wouldn’t be found out. But I guess it doesn’t matter to you, when you’re popular and important enough to be accepted, because all you care about is if you’ll be able to stay on the team.”

Conor remained still, but his silence wasn’t suitable for Ned when he felt so savage. He wanted Conor to get as angry about this as he was, to understand how terrible this was for both of them. 

“You think I don’t know how hard it is to keep this a secret?”

“No, you don’t! You’re the fucking _star right-half_ , everyone values you; but I’ve never had that.” Not until they met, anyway. “You don’t see and hear all the shit I get when you’re not around, just because I’m me, and you don’t know how that feels. Things might’ve changed for you after you came out,” _After I outed you,_ “But they’ve _always_ been the same for me, and you never made a difference.” This wasn’t entirely true, but he wasn’t ready to regret the fire building in his chest.

Conor’s eyes flashed, and Ned guessed that the same thought crossed his mind at these words. He didn’t know why he had to say all of this now, after he let it simmer inside of him for so many months. It just wasn’t fair.

“Ned, I-”

“No, stop. You don’t know what it’s like to be hated, and I’ve done _everything_ I can to make sure that we could have something, anything, for ourselves. It may not be obvious because I’m not friends with everyone, but I let people talk shit about me so that we can be together. Every time someone calls me a fag and laughs about it, I could say, ‘Yeah, I am, and I sucked your right-half’s dick this morning.’ But I don’t so we can have some peace. And you’re trying to tell me that I don’t work for anything? That I don’t care about anything as much as you care about _rugby?”_

The words were tumbling out of his lungs and into the air, but Ned couldn’t stop them; he found that he didn’t want to. “It must be so nice to be you, who’s good at something so stupid that everyone cares enough about to ignore for you, when I’m not nearly as significant to get the same treatment. It doesn’t matter to you if everyone knows, because nothing about your life- at least the part you care about, is gonna change. You’ll still get picked for captain this year, you’ll still be perfect, and you’ll still get to play. I’m not that lucky, Conor.”

Conor leaned against Victor’s desk, his knuckles turning white over the edge. Ned didn’t care that his eyes softened at this confession; he wasn’t done being resentful. He knew that this hurt Conor to hear, but for once, he wanted to hear his boyfriend fight to stay that way.

His face was stone cold, and he said softly after a minute’s hesitation, “I didn’t get to choose when to come out, Ned.”

His blood boiled. “Neither did I! Everyone assumed, and they just happened to be right. And if you’re gonna bring that up right now, you’re full of shit.”

Conor closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Ned guessed that he was trying to keep himself glued to the other side of the room. “No, I’m not. It’s lucky that I’m so good at what I do, because if I wasn’t, I’d be a target, too. It’s lucky that I’m good at rugby, because I can’t afford not to be. You took that away from me, Ned; the ability to make mistakes. All the other guys can slip up from time to time and it’s fine because they’re not gay. Do you get what I’m saying?”

How could Conor be so infuriatingly calm right now? He spoke to Ned like he was an overly emotional child, and he couldn’t stand it. 

“I care about rugby this much so I can protect you.”

Ned walked over to him, not caring in the slightest that he had to look up at Conor without the distance between them. He didn’t know what to do, he didn’t know how to fix this; he was moving on this gut feeling, and his new childish instincts told him to get in his face. “You’re doin’ a pretty shit job. How difficult it must be, having to stay popular so no one gives you the shit I’ve been getting my whole life.”

“...I didn’t know.”

“Conor, you never _asked._ You think everything’s gotten better just cause you sleep in my bed every night? You think life is perfect now just because we make out after practice? You’re wrong, but you never thought that far, did you? Now they know, and they’re going to separate us.”

He looked into Conor’s eyes as tears reappeared in his own. His whole body was shaking, but he managed to spit out, “They’re gonna separate us, and you want to deny everything you feel for me.” He choked back a sob, and he knew he had mere moments before he’d lose his nerve. “When I’d never, _never_ lie about how much I love you.”

He didn’t see the look on Conor’s face; he didn’t want to, he couldn’t bear it. His confession was lost to the wave of horror that washed over him all in one day, and he couldn’t handle the thought of looking up. 

He turned on his heel, ripping his wrist out of Conor’s sudden grip as he moved towards the door. He twisted the handle, and without looking back on everything that made him so happy since they met, said with as much ice as he could muster,

“Go home tomorrow.”

 

* * *

 

Wesley had never considered himself to be a patient man, and anyone who did obviously didn’t know who the hell they were talking about. Everything was taking too long; it’d been over two weeks since he talked to Doran, and he hadn’t seen any results of his impulsive “plan” to make Masters squirm so far. He should’ve known that Doran wouldn’t do anything substantial, at least not as quickly as Wesley preferred. He didn’t know exactly what he wanted to happen, after all, he never did anything with a clear vision of an expected outcome. He just wanted to show someone, anyone that he shouldn’t be the only one to endure such unfairness in the way things were.

So, using the cover of boys running around and packing up their things to get in touch with their families before leaving school for a week, Wesley lurked around the corners of Ned and Conor’s dorm hall.

He walked past their room a few times, nonchalantly glancing over his shoulder at the door to watch for when it would finally open. When it did, he only caught a glimpse of Masters, who luckily didn’t seem to notice anything happening in the hallway. He crept around corners, occasionally catching someone in conversation as to not look so suspicious, until at last, he saw Conor leave.

One Wesley was certain that he was gone for good, he enabled every one of his hidden spy senses to slide into their room and quietly shut the door behind him. If he was lucky, he could be quick enough to escape Ned or any of their friends catching him in the act of apparent espionage. He wasn’t sure that’s what he was doing, but he never thought too far ahead when it came to things like this, anyway. 

So without further ado, he opened wardrobe doors, looked under each bed, and sifted around their desks, careful to put everything back as he found it. There wasn’t anything they could do if he slipped up, but Wesley had places to be; he didn’t have time to be confronted. And of course someone as dainty as Roche would have a bright red rug and drawings of naked men on the walls, why again was it that everyone decided to ignore him?

He didn’t have a clue of what he was looking for, proof maybe? Something that went beyond his lying word, to shove into somebody’s face and say, “Look at this shit!” Perhaps he could find something that said in big red letters that they were in a relationship, or even an engagement ring, and the thought made him laugh a little too loud in what was supposed to be an empty room.

He opened a few of Roche’s desk drawers, and after looking through various papers and completed homework assignments, he finally found something that caught his eye.

A notebook, but not the kind that Wesley took half-assed notes in; this one was bound in thin leather and was as thick as some of his textbooks. The pages were worn, but apparently well taken care of and wrapped with a singular string to hold them together.

It wasn’t a notebook, one might even say that it was...a diary.

Knowing that time was of the essence, Wesley unravelled the string, and what he found on the first page was nothing less than a goldmine. 

 

_Hello, new journal. Hello, God. Hello to my boyfriend. I’m never gonna get over that, I can already tell. He’s completely passed out next to me, and I’d probably be too if my brain could shut the fuck up for a second. I could never sleep on trains anyway._

 

He found it: the thing he didn’t know he’d been looking for. Now he had to find a way to get out without being seen walking away someone else’s room. With one ear pressed to the door and the journal stuffed into the back of his pants, he listened for anything that sounded even remotely like Ned’s voice. He’d to wait until classes started back up next week to reveal what was definitely a wealth of information to Doran, or perhaps someone with more influence.

After ten seconds too long, Wesley cracked open the door, looked around for a moment, and slipped back out into the bustling hall.

Luck was definitely on his side this morning, because just as he was sure he was home free, he nearly slammed into Roche in his haste to escape down the stairs.

Ned stopped in his tracks, and Wesley would’ve blushed at the look he gave him if he’d ever been the type to do so. His eyes narrowed in an angry disappointment that he’d never seen on the guy before, and maybe his plan was in action after all, because judging by that face, Roche _knew._

He didn’t say anything, though, and swiftly climbed the stairs past Wesley without a word. Hopefully he wouldn’t find out that one of his most prized possessions was missing, so without a moment’s hesitation, Wesley booked it, unable to hide his triumphant grin and feeling like he just won the lottery.

Spring holiday was going to be very interesting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An I- OOP!


	29. Chapter 29

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hot coals

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh!!!! Hi! It's me, making a comeback after over a month! Oh my God, I am SO SORRY for leaving you all hanging after that last chapter, but I would never give up on such a big project that has given me so much joy over the course of this year. Has it been too long? Does anyone still care? Does anyone still like this fic? I hope so, cause I'm determined to finish it in a way that I'm happy with.
> 
> So originally, this was supposed to be chapter 30 and I was gonna jump right back in with Ned and Conor. But I had the WORST writer's block, and the only way I could get over it was writing about the tea with Victor and Darcy. Yes, it took almost 30 chapters for Victor to get one of his very own, and I'm sorry that it's probably not what you were looking forward to. It had been so long since I started IYD, that I kinda lost the feeling that made me fall in love with it. The whole thing spiraled away from me, and I didn't want to keep writing just for the sake of producing content.
> 
> Sidenote: this entire chapter is told through texts, calls and internal dialogue, so it's pretty different from the usual format. I also changed phone calls and texts to be in italics, and I'll get around to fixing that in previous chapters when I feel like it. Sorry it's weird!
> 
> Okay, enough chat; let's get into the drama!

 

 

_Wally: walkin on hot coals_

 

_Me: Are you insulting me of course I would_

 

_Wally: ive done it!!_

 

_Me: Bullshit_

 

_Wally: dude you cant call bullshit on everything i tell you_

 

_Me: I can and I will, you’re too much of a wuss_

_Me: Citing the Rat King Incident_

 

_Wally: i never shouldve let you ask sarah i never thought shed betray me like that_

 

_Me: She values the truth and I respect her for it_

_Me: Anyway punch an elderly person_

 

_Wally: NO_

_Wally: my gran would just KNOW and shed hunt me down_

_Wally: y would i ever need to tho_

 

_Me: What if it was a REALLY rude old person_

_Me: Like they kicked a pigeon they were supposed to be feeding and then coughed on you_

 

_Wally: still wouldnt_

_Wally: would U????_

 

_Me: Hmmmm depends_

 

_Wally: explain_

 

_Me: No we’re moving on, your turn_

 

_Wally: cliff dive_

_Wally: into shark infested waters_

 

_Me: Why would ANYONE do that?_

 

_Wally: for the thrill !_

 

_Me: I’m gonna say no on that one, I like being alive_

 

_Wally: weak_

 

_Me: Oh like you would_

 

_Wally: dont test my strength_

 

_Me: Take body shots off me_

 

_Wally: of course i would!!! what are friends for_

_Wally: if not to drink liquor off each others abs_

_Wally: sarah says hi btw_

 

_Me: Ahahah thanks buddy_

_Me: Hi Sarah!_

_Me: Your go_

 

_Wally: tell me about your handjob at the dance_

 

_Me: I would not_

_Me: I’m not talking about this with you man_

_Me: And it wasn’t a handjob smh_

 

_Wally: WHAT_

_Wally: if not me who are you gonna talk about it with???_

 

_Me: Nobody preferably_

_Me: It’s not something I feel particularly good about_

 

_Wally: ooooooh_

_Wally: why not??_

_Wally: and if it wasnt a handjob what was it ;)_

 

_Me: Nope_

_Me: I’m not even gonna ask why you know about it in the first place_

 

_Wally: no secrets in this group and its kinda obvious_

 

_Me: Ughhhhh_

_Me: I’m only talking to you at this point cause the group chat’s dead as disco rn_

 

_Wally: fuck you disco never dies!_

_Wally: but yeah whats happening_

 

_Me: Well there’s the whole thing with Ned and Conor that goes unresolved_

_Me: And Darcy is…_

_Me: Darcy_

 

_Wally: *eyes emoji*_

 

_Me: What_

 

_Wally: *EYES EMOJI*_

 

_Me: I’m side-eyeing you_

 

_Wally: im obviously side eyeing you harder_

_Wally: whats up with that_

 

_Me: Couldn’t tell ya_

_Me: All I know is that talking to him is like walking on hot coals_

_Me: I’m more in the dark than you are, that’s for sure_

 

_Wally: which you just said that youd do_

_Wally: i know nothing_

_Wally: you should_

_Wally: call him_

 

_Me: I highly doubt that he wants to talk to me :)_

 

_Wally: oooh i hit a nerve_

 

_Me: You did that ages ago my man_

 

_Wally: idk all im sayin is that it might be worth a shot_

 

_Me: I just wanna be able to talk to him again but he’s been avoiding me like the plague_

_Me: He probably wouldn’t pick up_

_Me: What does HE want tho?_

 

_Wally: dont ask me_

 

_Me: But you know_

 

_Wally: irrelevant!_

_Wally: i kno it bugs you not knowing but theres only one way to find out !_

 

Victor lay flat on his back in his bedroom, half paying attention to the light quickly fading from the window. Without the arm thrown over his eyes, he always loved the way the room glowed blue when twilight hit; when he was younger he’d begged his mothers for the only room in the townhouse with floor to ceiling windows that faced the west. He’d probably hear about the cost of the curtains for the rest of his days if Emily had anything to say about it.

On his bed that was only ever getting smaller, he considered the consequences of calling his most distant friend. He wasn’t the type to distract himself with the antics of his other friends, and he wondered if Darcy wished he could send something into the chat for that very reason. He wanted- so close to _needed_ \- to talk to Darcy, but he couldn’t shake the knowledge that he’d done something wrong. That he’d chosen the wrong path to get him to open up, and ended up opening a dam that he wasn’t sure could be sealed shut. 

He just wanted to hear his voice. They didn’t even have to talk about what they very much needed to talk about. Victor could listen to Darcy go on about the rain, his homework, or how disenchanted he was about anything at all; there was always something with him. Or maybe one day he’d let Victor demand answers to all of the questions that were keeping him up at night, to ask why their connection had dissolved as quickly as it began, and what he could do to stop it from disappearing for good.

He hit the call button before his doubts could hold him back, grasping at imaginary strings.

 

_Calling Lynch…_

_“...Hello?”_

Holy shit, the kid actually picked up. That was a feat in and of itself, and _why_ didn’t Victor plan something out? He hadn’t thought this far ahead.

“Hey Lynch, what’re you up to?” He wondered if Darcy could make out the surprise and excitement in his voice.

_“I’m...nothing, what do you want?”_

His iciness always put a little smile on Victor’s face, and this time was no different. Darcy was always so difficult, and he was dead wrong if he thought his stubbornness could deter him. “Maybe I just wanted to talk to you.”

_“Yeah, what else is new. You could’ve just texted me; you’ve never called me before.”_

Victor shrugged, knowing full well that Darcy couldn’t see him. Force of habit. “Thought I’d try something new. How’s home?”

There was a sound over the speaker that sounded an awful lot like a giggle. The kind of sound that made Victor wonder what, if anything, was happening on the other end. _“Homey.”_

There was a special kind of lilt to his voice that sounded off alarm bells in Victor’s head. “Lynch, you wouldn’t be drinking, now would you?”

There it was again. _“Maybe a little. Why, what are you gonna do about it?”_ His voice sounded so low over the phone, silky with whatever it was that he was pouring down his throat.

“That explains why you picked up, I suppose. I sense a bad habit developing.”

_“Whatever, V. As much as I love the sound of your voice, I’m hangin’ up if you’ve got nothing to say.”_

Victor guessed that bringing up the subject of how worried he was about Darcy wouldn’t keep him on the line, and he felt something like strings begin to fade. When would he finally let his friends check in on him? Victor had so many questions; was Darcy eating? Was he getting enough sleep? Was his weight loss intentional or stress induced? Was it Victor’s fault, and would asking him about it only make it worse?

_What do I have to do to get you to open up to me?_

“Well, we could talk about the elephant in the room, for starters.”

Darcy laughed high and clear into the receiver, and suddenly Victor’s room looked a lot brighter in the setting sun. _“What elephant? I don’t see anything, do you?”_

_YES,_ Victor wanted to shout. He saw Darcy’s impenetrable walls that were only getting harder to breach, and he wanted to know why a harmless crush prevented him from letting Victor scratch it away. 

There were so many conversations they needed to have, a hundred and one things they needed to talk about, but he wasn’t sure if they’d ever get to the point.

“I guess not. Are you alone?”

Darcy choked, and Victor tried not to laugh. _“Yes… why?”_

“Because I’d be a little worried if I found out you were drinking alone.”

_“Please, it’s not the end of the world. One of my mum’s coworkers got her a fancy bottle of rum, and I’m just testing it out. Making sure it’s up to her standards. I was facetiming with Ned earlier, and I thought Fun Darcy would be a little more helpful.”_

“Of course you are.” Victor supposed he should consider himself lucky if Darcy was getting loose enough to hold a conversation with him. He missed the days when ‘Fun Darcy’ wasn’t a requirement; it never was.

_“And what’s that supposed to mean?”_

“Nothin, Darce. You been dancing?”

Darcy hummed, and Victor rose up from the bed in favor of sitting in front of the window. He used to spend hours in front of it, basking in the temperature that seeped in through the glass. 

_“Yeah, exclusively in my bedroom. Spoke to Mum about getting into it for real, so I’ll probably start taking classes this summer.”_ Victor could hear the enthusiasm, subtle and refined in his voice, but bleeding through the phone all the same. He imagined Darcy, tipsy, happy, and pretty, swaying around his bedroom with that look he only got when he was on the move. He felt his features soften.

“What’s your room look like?” The words slipped out of his mouth before he could consider how weird and intrusive that sounded, but Victor was never the type to take his words back.

_“Er...what? ...I’d say average, but my standards are too high for that. I put up that Lana poster Conor got me for Christmas. We live in an apartment in the city, and I had to get blackout curtains so the people on the balcony across the street can’t spy on me. What kind of question is that, anyway?”_

Before Victor could unstick his tongue from the roof of his mouth, Darcy spoke again. _“Actually, scratch that. We both know you’re famous for your questions.”_  

“Is that so? I’m proud of my questions, I’ll have you know.” The sun had fully set at this point, and Victor found himself bathed in the quiet darkness of the street below. He made no move to turn on a light.

There was a long silence, and he worried that Darcy had hung up on him. If he’d kill the conversation over that, would he ever be able to truly _talk_  tohim again?

_“Did you keep in touch with that girl from the dance?”_

Apparently this wasn’t the case. As much as he didn’t want to talk about it, he had to keep grasping at loose ends, desperate to hang on to anything real. “No, she wasn’t interested.”

The girl in question, Rebecca, as she was called, made it obvious that she had only one goal that night, and Victor had been convenient enough to fulfill it. He could respect that there weren’t any expectations present, but that didn’t make him feel any better about that split second decision. What had gotten into him that night, and why did he let it go so far? He wasn’t the kind of person to have a fling with someone and try to forget all about it afterwards, was he? “Neither was I. I wasn’t thinking when I went back with her, and I don’t feel good about it.”

_“Were you drunk?”_ Darcy’s voice grew quiet, as though he was scared of Victor hearing him at all. 

“Not really. But even if I was, it doesn’t change anything.” There it was, that deep sense of shame bubbling in his stomach whenever he thought about the encounter.

He thought he detected the smallest of sighs on the other end. “What about you, you keep in touch with your girl?” Should he even ask about this? It was wild that Victor didn’t even know her name, but she oddly never came up in group conversation. He should’ve been glad that Darcy found a way to have a good time after the awkward shitstorm in the hallway (which they were apparently never going to discuss,) because he deserved it as much as anyone else. Still, the entire topic made him feel like he could fall through the floorboards.

There was another few moments before Darcy spoke,  _“Yeah, and...I dunno. She’s really cool, but…”_

It didn’t seem like he was going to finish that thought, and Victor couldn’t find it within himself to push it. What did it mean that neither of them wanted to go into detail? All that came to mind was a thick fog that filled his lungs.

He didn’t know what to say, and if he couldn’t think of anything, Darcy was going to hang up on him. He had so many questions, so many ways he wanted to check in on him, but he didn’t want to have any more serious conversations while Darcy was under the influence. Victor was tired of that shit, and he wanted Darcy to feel like he could be open by his own volition.

So he came up with the only thing that seemed safe to discuss. “Any news about Ned and Conor?”

_“What are you asking me for? They’re your friends, too.”_

“Come on, you have best friend privileges with Ned. And I’ve been tryin’ to call Conor, but he’s not picking up. He must be pretty messed up about it all.”

_“Hmm, I don’t know how I feel about givin’ out other people’s problems.”_

_Well you won’t tell me about yours; so this is all I got._

“God, I don’t care, Darcy! Just tell me.”

_“Ugh, fine. Have you heard what happened?”_

“No, but I’m about to.”

With a great sigh, Darcy told him about the whole ordeal with Doran, and with every word spoken over the static, he felt his temperature rise along with his fury. They didn’t know for certain that it was Wesley’s doing, but Victor knew that he was the only person around who would care enough to go out of his way to be an asshole. Just when he thought Wesley was finally going through some personal development, he still found a way to fuck up other people’s lives. The final straw was months ago, and now it was more serious than ever. He and Wally would have a few things to take care of when they got back, that much was certain.

Without realizing it, he’d begun to pace around his room, positively shaking in anger. “Darcy. Darcy, I’m so _fucking_ pissed off that I think I’m actually having a stroke. Keep an ambulance on stand-by for me.”

_“Yeah, I’m right there with you. Please invite me to watch when you and Wally go to beat him up.”_

“That’s a deal. But, shit, they aren’t actually going to break up over it, are they?”

Darcy hummed thoughtfully into the receiver, and if Victor closed his eyes, he could almost imagine that he was right there with him. It calmed his heart rate faster than expected. _“I don’t think so; they’re just angry with each other right now. They’ll get through it, right? Even if they end up having to get different rooms. Wow, that sounds so juvenile.”_

“Yeah, it does. Fuck this whole system, man.”

_“Now you sound like Ned.”_

Victor was beyond relieved to talk to Darcy about any one thing, even if it was because of the shittiest situation he could imagine. He couldn’t bear to hang up yet, and searched his mind for a way to keep talking. “Alright, tell me about your day or something so I don’t break a window before I have to.”

Darcy snickered. _“Like what, V? I haven’t gotten up to anything interesting yet.”_

Like a fist through a wall, he realized that he loved the tune of Darcy’s voice and how much he’d been missing it. “Then tell me about your plans or something, don’t make me have to convince you.”

_“Oh, you think you could persuade me over the phone?”_ There was a playful tone in his voice that sounded like music.

“You think I could persuade you if I was there with you?”

_“I don’t see why not; you’ve done it before.”_  

_Yeah, and look where that got us._

It took a couple moments for Victor to find the right words, the right way to push Darcy into opening up, inch by inch. Talking to Lynch was forever such a challenge, and it was one he’d always gladly accept.

“Well, let’s hope you’re not inebriated when I do from now on, okay? I’m tired of seein’ you get drunk all the time.”

There was a single moment in which he was terrified that Darcy had ended the call, spooked off by the smallest spark of honesty, but he finally released a breath when Darcy laughed again. _“Ha! I’m positive you’re not telling Wally the same thing.”_

Victor couldn’t have helped the grin that stretched across his face even if he wanted to. “Yeah, I probably should’ve when he drank all my whiskey during the dance! There’s no telling that boy what to do.”

_“...You think you can tell me what to do?”_

Victor stopped in his tracks like he’d slammed on the brakes. He could’ve dropped on the floor from that voice dripping over the line, and he’d think about it more than once in the days to come. Darcy Lynch, actually messing with him? After everything that happened? No, impossible. He didn’t know what to think about it; all he knew was that he didn’t want to stop.

“Oh, trust me, if I could, then I definitely would.”

_“So…”_ Darcy seemed to consider his thoughts, and Victor prayed that he’d say them out loud. He must’ve been more tipsy than he seemed, or maybe he felt safer under the cover of a phone call. Whatever it was, Victor would be forever grateful to it for the quiet words that came next. “ _What would you tell me to do? If you even could, that is.”_

Victor found himself pressed against the glass of his window, casting a long shadow over the floor, and it was only then that he realized how warm he’d become. He had so many requests and a million things he wanted to know. If he could, he’d tell Darcy to drop the act and tell him every little thing that had ever crossed his mind. He’d tell him to stop being so scared of everything and promise to quit holding himself back. He’d tell him to eat properly and give himself a fucking break for once, to stop acting like he had to be perfect all the time. Victor would ask him what it was about him that developed this crush so maybe he'd have a chance at understanding. He’d ask why Darcy had the ability to make him so _crazy_ and question everything he once thought he knew. Questions and possible answers made the hairs on the nape of his neck stand on end, but maybe it was just the cold.

Darcy just gave him a key to the castle. Sure, it was a small one that could only unlock a broom closet if anything, but Victor was going to use it like his life depended on it.

“Damn, such a heavy question. Gotta let me think about that one for a sec.”

_“Time’s running out, Victor, so shoot your shot.”_

It struck him like a brick. “I’d make you dance with me again. You’re so good at it.”

He felt Darcy’s sharp inhale run down his spinal cord.

_“You- you think so? Last time you had the chance, you didn’t get around to much dancing.”_

“Ooh, that stung, Darce. You know it’s only fun when it’s with you.” His mouth moved ahead of his brain before he could get a response and blurted out, “I’ve seen you dance over and over again, and you’re what makes it fun.”

Darcy hummed low in his throat, and Victor could almost feel it against his ear. _“Maybe we’ll do it again, but it’ll cost you.”_

His heart simmered, and he didn’t want to think about why. They didn’t even have to speak when it happened, and Victor already knew that he’d pay any price to recreate their time upstairs. “Name your price, Lynch.”

_“I’ll set my terms when the time comes, alright?”_

Victor bit his lip to stop the flow of possible words to come. “Deal.”

 

* * *

 

There was little sleep to be had that night, hours after hanging up the phone. Victor was between lying on his bed, staring up at the blank ceiling and pacing around the floor, wondering if he’d ever be able to calm the senses that were lit on fire. He felt impossibly giddy; euphoric, even, and he couldn’t wipe the permanent smile off his face. That phone call was everything he’d been waiting for, everything he was looking for, all wrapped up in a tidy sixty minutes. An opening, a single chance, the tiniest crack in the door that led back into Darcy’s life. 

Victor could pinpoint the exact moment that door had shut in his face. He didn’t even realize how far he’d opened it until Darcy’s walls slid up behind his eyes at the end of that first night in the room upstairs. When Darcy bolted out of the room like a bat out of hell, all Victor heard was a deadbolt lock snapping shut, and he supposed it was true when they say you don’t know what you have until it’s gone. 

_Victor, do you like yourself?_  

Here was the thing about Darcy Lynch: it was hilarious that he called Victor an enigma when that kid was actually impossible to figure out. Sure, Victor could read his surface emotions like a book, but the real meaning, the _true_ value of what was going on within him was like watching a foreign movie without any subtitles. He knew there was something happening, but he didn’t know the context or all the little intricacies of his mind.

What other reason was there for Victor’s satisfaction of getting the smallest glimpse? He’d always known that Darcy was more than meets the eye. He could see all of his complexities running through his mind at a mile a minute, but he couldn’t _see_ them. He couldn’t open up his heart like a book and read the contents; all he could picture was the cover and try to work it out from there. That’s what started this whole situation in the first place, it was why he spent an evening looking for his friend with gummy bears waiting in his pocket.

People were easy to read. It was so simple to look at someone’s face and see as plain as day how they felt and what they needed. But Darcy was the exact opposite. All the way back when he joined the team, Victor took one look at him and all he saw was a thick, tall wall that stretched up to the heavens, hiding him from view. He could see what was on his face, but he didn’t know what he wanted.

Victor knew about his crush. Even if he wasn’t painfully aware of every human being’s facial expressions and body language, the way Darcy acted when they danced together and his recent behavior was proof enough. At first, he thought Darcy’s reluctance to interact with him or even look at him for too long was the product of his fear of being vulnerable and embarrassment after their first night alone in the room upstairs. Victor had seen resentment from those he’d read before in the past; people who got angry with him for figuring out what they tried so hard to deny, but it wasn’t his fault that people could be so obvious with their emotions. He knew that there were those in the world who’d rather hide in silence than be seen, but if he could pick any one of them to get over it, it would be Darcy.

He was perfectly aware that Darcy was crushing on him, evident by all his little interrupted breathing patterns and his trembling hands and swimming golden brown eyes while they danced, and he couldn’t say that he hated it. Honestly, it was captivating and so sweet, the way his voice got caught in his throat and escaped him when he couldn’t hold it back. He wasn’t sure about it until that night, but now that he knew for certain, he’d probably never forget it.

Victor felt for him, he really did. It couldn’t be easy, being forced to come to terms with your own sexuality at an all-boys boarding school, much less developing a harmless crush on one of your best friends. Darcy might not have wanted to admit it, but yeah, Victor was one of his best friends, and he was proud of it. 

Usually when people crushed on him, it was pretty easy to understand what they expected from him in return. All the things that people as a whole anticipated from someone they were interested in. Requited feelings, undivided attention, or straight up rejection. But that was the thing about Lynch, he didn’t seem to  _want_ anything. He didn’t look at Victor with the same hopeful eyes as others had in the past, try to spend more time with him (quite the opposite, obviously,) and he didn’t try to include himself in anything that Victor wanted. He wouldn’t ask about his future or the type of people he was interested in, like he didn’t want to be a part of it.

All of this mystery, this vagueness that felt alien when it lived with romantic feelings, was just one more reason why Victor wanted to know Darcy more than ever before.

 

* * *

 

Victor woke with a start, a jolt, a surge of electricity that nearly flung him off the mattress. The morning light poured into his bedroom, but that wasn’t what threw him out of the depths of sleep. He rubbed a hand over his face and took a deep breath in, and realized that he fell asleep in his clothes. 

He’d woken up with a single word reverberating in his ears, and was overcome with an immediate need to pick up the phone. He’d forgotten to plug it in last night.

Victor only woke up with Darcy's name on his mind because of last night, right? He didn’t dream about him, but every second of their conversation and the following thoughts would be burned into his mind forever. His phone was already in his hand at a crippling ten percent, but he followed his instincts and made the call, his mind still fuzzy from some forgotten dream.

Darcy picked up on the third ring. _“Victor. We spoke not eight hours ago; what could you possibly want with me right now?”_ His voice still sounded rough from sleep, and maybe Victor should’ve considered the early hour. He sounded uncharacteristically okay with the interruption, so maybe he wouldn’t be too irritated.

He cleared his throat before speaking. “I’m not sure, honestly. I just had a feeling. Did I wake you?”

_“A feeling.”_

“Yeah, intuition?”

_“That’s...weird.”_

“What’s weird about it?”

_“Er...ha- whatever.”_ Victor was deathly curious, but in a single breath, Darcy added, _“Maybe you should reconsider your belief in psychics.”_

Something scratched a surface in Victor’s mind. “Oh? I feel like I’m missing something.”

_“Welcome to my world. Did this ‘feeling’ tell you anything else?”_

Victor rubbed the sleep from his eyes. “Not really; I just woke up and called you.”

_“Like I said, weird. You’re weird.”_

“ _You’re_ weird!”

Darcy snorted. _“I suppose so. Well, if you’ve got nothing to say to me, I’ll be going. I gotta take a shower.”_ There it was again, a special kind of suspicion rising in Victor’s chest. _“And MY feeling tells me that I’ll be talking to Ned a lot today. Text me if you actually need me.”_

“Can do, Lynch. I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

_“Whatever helps you sleep at night.”_

If anyone asked him, Victor would say that he was only summoned from the comfort of his bed by the scent of a homemade waffle breakfast drifting under his door. He thought it best not to get sucked into the vortex of thoughts and _feelings_ that he hoped wouldn’t become a regular occurrence after phone calls with Darcy.

If he thought he could escape any more of his own intuition that morning, however, he was sorely mistaken. When he padded out into the kitchen, he could tell by the air of the room that his parents were...up to something.

Emily was pouring batter onto the waffle iron and Veronica was sneaking chocolate chips behind her wife’s back, and as soon as Victor entered the room, she gave him one of her trademark Looks. “Well, good morning, night owl.”

He narrowed his eyes right back at her. “And what’s that supposed to mean, _chocolate addict?”_

Emily whipped around and slapped Veronica’s hand away from the bag. She gave her son a look of her own, but hers were always a little more forgiving. “Nothing, it’s just that we heard you talking on the phone and walking about a little late last night.”

Veronica raised an eyebrow. “ _And_ about half an hour ago.”

Victor perched himself on top of the counter and grabbed a handful of chocolate chips, staring Emily directly in the eye to assert his non-existent dominance. “I was a fool to think I’d get even an _ounce_ of privacy in this house.”

“Oh please, don’t act like it’s new. So, who’ve you been talking to?” His parents had long since gotten used to their son’s proclivity of sitting on anything other than a chair, and they seemed too bent on getting new information to tell him to get down.

Victor shrugged, knowing it would be useless to attempt to hide anything. There was absolutely nothing to shy away from, as he was determined to remind himself. Still, he had an immediate desire to hold this new happiness close to his chest, but this wasn’t the time or place to overanalyze why. “Lynch.” He said simply.

He and his mums had a long-standing tradition of using the hours after his arrival back home during school holidays to catch them up on everything that had happened since he’d last seen them, and he considered himself extremely lucky to have such a close relationship with his parents. Over the course of the year, he told them all about his friends, the team, Wesley, and any and all developments regarding his life. It’s not like they were going to do anything with the information, and they loved Ned as much as he did, so of course Victor told them what little he knew of him and Conor not spending spring break together.

And in a fit of frustration and confusion, he also filled them in on everything that had developed (or regressed) with Darcy, but that took a little more convincing.

Emily opened the iron to add a fluffy addition to the growing waffle plate on the counter. “Already? After what you told us yesterday, I thought he’d be a little more difficult to get ahold of.”

“I know! I was so surprised he picked up, I didn’t even know what to say.”

“So…what’d you talk about?” Veronica asked passively, but it was an ill disguised front in Victor’s opinion.

Instead of saying, _nothing at all and it made me feel like I’d won the lottery,_ he decided to tell them of what he’d learned about the situation with Weasel. Which of course got him fired up all over again, and he was suddenly pacing around the kitchen, weaving around the counter and eating chocolate chips like a starving man.

Emily snatched the bag out of his hand with an indignant huff. “Stop that. You always eat like an animal when you’re upset; it drives me mad.”

“You would too if you just found out that the guy you used to spend all your time with sabotaged your best friends! I thought he’d finally gotten around to getting his shit together, turns out he’s just as much of an asshole as before, if not worse.”

Veronica began to set the table. “I know, love, but there’s nothing you can do about it right at this moment. You need to relax.”

“Not to say that you should do anything drastic once you get back! You’re _this_ close to graduation, don’t spoil it now. Now sit down before you start bouncing off the walls.” Emily put a hand on his shoulder and prodded him towards the dining room table.

Victor couldn’t even pretend to be irritated, the calming aroma of homemade waffles (with a more than generous helping of whipped cream,) eggs and bacon overwhelmed his senses and soothed his soul like he was six years old again. His mums must’ve noticed, because they kindly waited for him to scarf down half of his portion before interrogating him again.

“So is that the only thing you and Darcy talked about?” Emily asked.

Victor paused to glare at her. “Why?” He deadpanned, only slightly hindered by his mouthful of syrupy bacon.

“Because yesterday you made it sound like the world would stop spinning if he never even looked you in the eye again. And I swear I heard birds chirping when you walked down the stairs.”

He looked up at the ceiling to avoid his mother’s prying eyes. “Oh my God, you two are insufferable.” People gave him so much shit for being nosy, but his inclination to be in the know paled in comparison to the legendary Emily and Veronica Hines. If only the world knew. “We didn’t talk about anything, really. I’m positive the only reason he picked up was cause he was tipsy, and it’s not like we had a life-changing conversation.”

Veronica took a sip of her coffee and shrugged. “Be passive all you want, Victor, but I didn’t lose sleep due to your pacing for no reason, I’m sure of it.” She glanced at her wife and added in an undertone, “I can’t say I love the idea of you kids drinking so casually.”

They both knew that Victor wasn’t telling them _everything_ about Darcy, but this was one thing that he couldn’t bring himself to tell them. Darcy’s feelings for him were personal, the smallest gem of knowledge that, for once, wasn’t anyone else’s business. What would he say, anyway? _Yeah, one of my best friends is crushing on me, but it’s not as big of a deal as he seems to think it is, and at the end of the day it’s kind of ruining our friendship, even though it doesn’t have to._ It all sounded so substantial, and it felt like it would become an actual Problem if he put it into words.

Eventually, there would come a time that he would tell his parents everything they wanted to know about Darcy Lynch, but first he had to figure out his own involvement. He had to understand how Darcy became one of his biggest projects, his most pressing challenge. What started as an attempt to get to know his friend better snowballed into something that completely shattered his routine, filling the crevices of his mind with a need to know _why._ Why Darcy closed himself off from the world and when he built that goddamn fortress around himself.

 

* * *

 

_2:14 pm_

_Wally: IM TIRED OF THE SILENCE_

 

_Me: Mood_

_Me: But it’s only been a couple days give it time_

_Me: Oh but Wally_

 

_Wally: huh_

 

_Me: Wally_

 

_Wally: WHAT_

 

_Me: I’m going to tell you something_

_Me: And then when we get back to school shit’s gonna hit the fan probably_

 

_Wally: …_

_Wally: give it to me_

 

Maybe there were those in the world who knew to back off when confronted with unrequited feelings, but Victor remained undeterred. Because of all of this unnecessary nonsense of silence, tension, and walking on eggshells, he wanted to know Darcy more than he’d ever wanted to know anyone he’d ever met; he was one of the most ambiguous people Victor had come across in his short life. When they sat back to back in the room upstairs, high on gummy bears and confessions, it felt like walking into a cave. It wasn’t scary, but it was dark and mysterious and much deeper than he thought it would be. He never took Darcy as a misleading person, but he’d lied through his teeth when he said that he had nothing to hide. Victor knew that at the time, but that night he learned that Darcy hid from everything.

Victor wasn’t one to deny any thoughts or epiphanies when they made themselves known; if he could guess everyone else’s internal dilemmas, he should’ve been able to see and understand his own. And he did, so he saw (but didn’t quite understand) the gravitational pull that made him want to orbit around Darcy like the moon circled the earth. He knew that his friend hated the way he'd seek him out on his own or with the group, but he’d never been able to help it, and he didn’t have enough willpower to ignore it. 

When he cornered Darcy into dancing with him, it really was for the sole purpose of getting to the root of what was wrong with him. But once he’d successfully done that, he didn’t want to stop. Dancing with him didn’t feel natural, it wasn’t...easy, per say, (nothing about Darcy was easy) and it felt foreign and forbidden. Darcy made everything feel taboo. In addition to how he acted like getting to know him was a crime, the way the veins on his wrist felt under Victor’s fingers, the little hairs on the nape of his neck, and how he’d finally stopped shaking when they moved together made him feel like he’d been caught doing something he knew he shouldn’t. It was the same feeling as when he smoked a cigarette for the first time knowing that his mums would kill him if they found out. Guilty, but the headrush was so sweet that he couldn’t bring himself to feel remorseful about it.

He didn’t feel remorseful at the time, at least. Victor knew, he _knew_ that all of the little things he said to Darcy and the few moments they spent together made it so much worse for him, but he wanted it so much that he couldn’t help himself. Darcy brought out something instinctual inside him that he didn’t know was there in the first place. He knew he shouldn’t tease him, lead him on, but he was already doing it before he could tell himself to stop. 

He noticed, he always noticed when he got Darcy flustered. It didn’t matter if they were alone together or with the group at any given time; he winked at him, called him Lynch and whispered in his ear, pointed out what he liked about him because it was the only time Victor got to see his composure crack, even just a little. It was addicting, and he felt horribly guilty about it all.

Victor considered himself an expert of self control. He knew exactly how drunk to get to have fun but keep up in the morning, how to perfectly balance his friends, rugby, and his grades so that he could let himself be free while keeping his parents and teachers happy. He was a professional at maintaining his life this way, to remain happy and successful.

And then they danced, and all of that changed.

Darcy destroyed all of it, swept away his inhibitions like they were never even there. If he was crushing on him, but didn’t want anything, Victor had to _make_ him want it in those small moments. He got the feeling that Darcy didn’t want to feel this way towards him, but that couldn’t stop Victor from doing all the little things that he knew would make him tense up. He could feel the brunette’s frantic heartbeat when they danced, and Victor wanted to make his blood boil. The way Darcy lost himself when he danced did the exact same thing to him. All sense of personal control flew out the window when he could witness and make someone so composed and purposeful fall apart like that. He almost wanted to blame him for it; maybe if Darcy wasn’t so pretty and difficult, he wouldn’t feel the need to provoke him so much.

Cause that’s the thing, Darcy was _pretty._ Pretty in a way that made Victor want to steal a car and say fuck the police. Victor had never thought of any guy as anything other than conventionally attractive, and the novelty of it confused the hell out of him and spurred him on. Darcy was so graceful and collected that Victor wanted to make him burn, to drive that impossible person as crazy as he drove him, and it really didn’t make any fucking sense. He also realized that Darcy hated it when he looked at him so openly, but he’d jump out a window before looking away from something so admirable. He was complicated and stubborn all the time, so hard to figure out, argued about everything and was never happy with something or other, and Victor felt like he’d just won the world when he could get him to say yes. He’d thought he had every equation solved and the utmost self control until he met Darcy. He knew that it was awful to treat him this way, to play with his emotions when he knew how it tore him up, but he was drunk on this enigma.

 

_Wally: r u_

_Wally: fuc ki n_

_Wally: s hitting m e_

 

_Me: I know dude_

 

_Wally: where does this mtoherfucker live_

 

_Me: Okay so we don’t know FOR SURE that it’s something weasel did_

_Me: But come on it’s obvious right_

 

_Wally: YEA H_

_Wally: i wont be able to wait till we get bck to kick his ass_

_Wally: whats the plan_

 

None of this would be such a problem if Victor wasn’t straight. Yes, he _was_ straight. He’d never before liked another boy, only ever interested and enthralled by girls, and he couldn’t imagine having the type of relationship that Ned and Conor had. He couldn’t let himself think about what it would be like to be in any kind of relationship, much less a serious one with a guy, and he’d never wanted to find out. He loved girls; loved their mouths, their voices, their figures and all the ways they’ve made him feel over the years. He’d always known this and there’d never been any reason to question it; there still wasn’t. Obviously, he wasn’t against or disdainful of anyone or who they loved. You don’t grow up with two mums and all their friends without knowing and appreciating all forms of affection.

It was for this reason that he knew he could never make a real move on Darcy. It wouldn’t be real, it wouldn’t be authentic, and it wouldn’t be _fair._ It didn’t matter how gorgeous Darcy was or how much Victor wanted to make him lose himself, because at the end of the day, he didn’t know if he’d ever be able to feel something more than this driven instinct to go wild. He didn’t _really_ know the full extent of Darcy’s crush, if it was just physical attraction, boredom, or if he was actually falling for him, but it didn’t make a difference either way. Whatever Victor felt about him, it might never come close to the relationships he’d seen before.

 

_Me: I don’t have a plan but can you believe we used to hang out with this dude_

 

_Wally: >:((((((((( _

_Wally: have u talked to ned_

_Wally: should i talk to ned???_

 

_Me: Idk I’m leaving Darcy in charge of that_

_Me: I feel like Ned wouldn’t want everyone to gang up on him but tough shit I guess_

 

_Wally: I’M ANGRY_

 

_Me: Me too_

 

And honestly, that hurt so much more and made it all the more confusing when Victor opened his eyes the night of the dance and saw Darcy looking right back at him. God, that was so weird, and there was definitely something wrong with Victor that night. He must’ve been drunker than he thought or just really in the zone, because in that single instance, he couldn’t read Darcy at all. He was stone cold, a brick wall that reached into the heavens and even further, and Victor was so shaken by his blankness that he couldn’t look away. For the first time, he didn’t have a clue of what was going on in Darcy’s head, and it only made him want to say _look at me._ Which was precisely the wrong time to think such thoughts, considering the plans Rebecca had in store for him. And it should’ve been uncomfortable, he should’ve given Darcy some kind of look that said _I’m kind of busy at the moment,_ but the whole thing was so wrong, so _forbidden_ that Victor couldn’t find it within himself to care. But in a split second, Darcy was gone, and the feeling of getting caught remained.

It remained behind his eyes when she pulled him into a hall closet and kept her hands on him, it stayed on his tongue when she knelt down in front of him, kept his heart moving as he pressed his mouth against the wall in the dark, and that criminal feeling pushed him over the edge faster than her tongue ever would have. 

And it was so fucked up. 

 

_Wally: did we do something wrong? like how did weasel even find out_

_Wally: and if it wasnt him then who_

 

_Me: I mean, we definitely didn’t tell anybody_

_Me: And you saw him being a dickhead after the dance, he made it sound like he knew something. I thought he was just tryin to stir shit up, but then this goes down? Now way he didn’t have something to do with it_

 

_Wally: ive been trying to get ahold of conor but i got nothing_

 

_Me: I texted him after everybody left but I haven’t heard from him since_

 

If Victor could be with a girl like that and still leave her behind with nothing more than a few parting words, wouldn’t it be the same with Darcy, if things ever came to that? He wasn’t opposed to the idea of experimenting with a guy, just to be sure and if he ever wanted to know, but if he felt as empty as he did on Friday night after doing so, he’d make sure to never touch him like that. Maybe it would be different if Darcy was as nonchalant about it, but he wasn’t, so Victor wouldn’t.

If he could admit that he was drawn to Darcy like waves on the sand, he also had to come to terms with the fact that that’s all it was. Attraction. Empty desire and teenage hormones that wouldn’t mean anything in another year or two. He could never _actually_ try anything with him, because Darcy was too important, too valuable to Victor to hurt him like that.

Through considering all the ways in which Darcy’s mystery was beginning to consume him, he also started to feel just how much he’d been hurting ever since he got that first look. Darcy knew internal pain, and Victor wouldn’t be able to forgive himself if he made it any worse. How awful would it be, to split apart his practiced composure, take in all the beauty of his vulnerability, only to leave him behind after he was satisfied? He hoped he had enough self control to let Darcy keep the one thing that belonged to him.

Darcy Lynch was fucking complicated. Navigating everything that had to do with him was like walking through a labyrinth, and Victor wanted it to slow down just as much as he wanted to speed it all up. He knew he shouldn’t feel sorry for himself while his friends were suffering from consequences they didn’t have any answers for. 

What about their lives were slipping away while he was glued to his phone, stuck at home without a way to fix their problems?

 

* * *

 

2:46 am

_Incoming call…_

His phone. His phone was _ringing_ on his bedside table, cutting through stress dreams that looked like his past and present best friends and Christ, who decided to call him at this hour? He blindly groped around for his phone in the near pitch black of his room and swiped up without looking at the caller ID.

“Ughh, hello?”

_“Hey, Victor…”_

Victor sat up in bed at an alarming speed, making himself dizzy and he almost laughed in worry and relief. “Conor?!”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please, now more than ever, any feedback that you have would be so valuable! I miss seeing all of your comments in my inbox because that's what makes this fun. Honestly, I still don't know how I feel about this chapter, and the insecurity about this fic as a whole is eating me alive.
> 
> Thank you all for sticking with me, and it's so good to be back!


	30. Chapter 30

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And for the first time in his life, it felt like he was leaving home, rather than returning to the one he’d always known.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How does another month go by so fast? Again, I'm sorry to keep you all waiting so long after all of my annoying cliffhangers! I've been going back and forth on this chapter for what feels like forever, but after your incredible comments on the last one, I just couldn't keep you waiting any longer. So I hope you enjoy, because things are finally moving along!

Conor drifted to the train station that morning, completely unaware of how exactly he’d secured a ticket and chose a seat. He didn’t know what the weather was doing, how many passengers occupied the compartment with him, or how he was going to explain his unexpected return back home. He was grateful for the long ride; it gave him time to curl up in his seat against the window without probing questions to interrupt his thoughts. His parent’s house was the last place he wanted to be, but every time he resented having to go back, he was bombarded by the knowledge that he had nowhere else to go. He could’ve asked Victor to make space for him at his house, but he didn’t want to be a burden on any of his friends (as he no doubt would’ve been in this state) and there was no one he wanted to talk to other than Ned.

He didn’t see Ned after their fight, and Conor guessed that he spent the night in Darcy and Wally’s room. That made him feel terrible; he wanted nothing more than to talk to Ned, to explain himself, even though he couldn’t think of a thing to say to him. Conor hadn’t gotten more than a minute of sleep, but the long hours did nothing to help sort out his thoughts. At first he’d wanted time to think, to try to understand what happened and why every one of his emotions conflicted with each other, but all he came up with was a headache to rival his heartache.

 

9:24 am

_ Victor: What happened? _

 

_ Me: I don’t know. _

  
  


What  _ did _ happen? And  _ how _ did it happen? After spending roughly eight hours writhing around in bed fretting over how Doran knew, Conor realized on the train that it didn’t matter and he didn’t care. All he cared about was how things had started with getting found out to the worst fight he ever wanted to have with his boyfriend. 

Conor knew fighting. He’d done it without thinking ever since he realized that he was different from other people. He knew enough about broken noses, bad bruises, and fists flying through the air to last him a lifetime, but this was different. Words were thrown instead of hands and he’d been knocked to the ground without having to be pushed, and like so many other things lately, this was new to him. He knew how to fight, but he never learned to do it with words and he never wanted to. 

Ned spit venom out of his mouth last night in a way that Conor had never seen before, and what made it all the more gut-wrenching was that he didn't realize why until it was too late. At first, he couldn’t understand why Ned was so angry with him when he offered to deny their relationship; he thought that’s what he wanted. Didn’t he understand that all Conor ever wanted to do was show the world how much he cared for him, admired him? He wanted to put Ned on a pedestal, hold his hand wherever they went and shout loud enough so people in  _ Japan _ could hear, “Look at this wonderful person; he outshines the moon and the stars, and he’s all mine.” He thought they both wanted life to remain as easy as possible, and the only way they’d done that so far was by keeping it locked up. So much for that- no matter how hard they tried, they’d been discovered. He’d been so stupid to think that their affection for each other was strong enough to keep them safe.

 

_ Victor: I know he’s angry with you _

 

_ Me: Yep _

 

_ Victor: Are you angry with him? _

 

_ Me: Yeah _

  
  


This was another foreign emotion, being so upset with someone that you care for more than anything. He’d spent the early hours of the morning seething over Ned’s words, his accusations, his frightful tone, but Conor still couldn’t sleep without him. He wanted to hold him close in the dark, try to forget that they might not be able to do that anymore and whisper against Ned’s neck that everything was somehow going to be okay. He wanted,  _ needed _ all of that regardless of how his words cut like a knife. Conor was angry with him, but that couldn’t make him love him any less.

Conor was head over heels in love with Ned, and he’d known for so long that it wasn’t all that surprising. It never had been, even in the moment when he realized it. When he’d looked at his boyfriend curled up under his arm in the late hours of the night, caught up in conversation with the group in the room upstairs, the thought struck him like a drop of rain on the pavement. The January cold had been no match for the warmth that pooled in his chest as Ned laughed at something he couldn’t remember now, like cold wind against the unyielding sun when he felt Ned’s joy shake against his side. 

_ I love him,  _ he’d thought. And it wasn’t all that surprising.

Their fight did nothing to wash away how Conor felt about him, yet these feelings didn’t make his words any less hurtful. There was so much about last night to pick apart that he didn’t even know where to start. It had taken him too long to realize why it was a mistake to suggest that they sweep their relationship under the rug, but it was obvious that Ned was holding in a lot more conflict than he thought. Maybe they should’ve talked about it before, all the little things they did to protect each other, because it was so much more than refraining from small touches in public. He knew that Ned cared, that he put his efforts into more than was immediately visible; his writing, their friends and everything he did for them. When Conor said that Ned didn’t have anything to work for like he did for rugby, it was something that slipped past his lips in a moment of blazing fire. He knew Ned gave so much to them to show that he appreciated the safety they granted, a reassurance that he’d never had before.

_ But they’ve always been the same for me, and you never made a difference. _

Did Ned mean it when he said that? Logic told Conor that he couldn’t have, that they were too important to each other and that Ned spoke on impulse. But the hurt that took hold of Conor as he now sped away from campus told him that Ned spoke a lot of truths he hadn’t known about, and maybe this was one of them. 

_ It may not be obvious because I’m not friends with everyone, but I let people talk shit about me so that we can be together. _

Why didn’t Ned tell him any of that before now? Why did it take the threat of being discovered for him to confide in him this part of his days? He accused Conor of assuming that everything was fine, and Ned was right because he thought that they  _ were.  _

_ It doesn’t matter to you if everyone knows, because nothing about your life- at least the part you care about, is gonna change.  _

Conor should’ve told Ned that he loved him so much sooner, reminded him that he wanted to spend every moment of freedom together; maybe if he had, they could’ve spent the night deciding what they should do instead of fighting. He didn’t want to argue about if  _ rugby _ of all things was more important than their relationship, because of course it wasn’t. They spent too long wrapped up in each other, used their time forgetting about all the things they weren’t allowed to be, when they should’ve been talking about this.

 

9:36 am

_ Victor: You didn’t break up did you? _

 

_ Me: I hope not  _

  
  


* * *

 

Ned’s return-home-routine felt very different from all the others this time around. Many things were the same, he still opened the door and inhaled the scent and memories of the house, he still held onto the railing on his way up to the second floor, and he held true to his reintroductions. He still opened every window, cleaned every surface, and took down the Christmas decorations he’d neglected after the winter holidays. This day was different, however, because whereas he would normally do these things out of habit for the building, now he did them because he couldn’t think of anything else to do with his hands. It was a manic energy that pushed him to wash every unused dish in the kitchen, unpack and launder the sheets, and dust the liquor cabinet, all to get his mind off of everything else that awaited him outside the front door.

And for the first time in his life, it felt like he was leaving home, rather than returning to the one he’d always known.

He’d spent the last few weeks imagining what it would be like to house Conor in his most sacred space, how it would feel to give him a grand tour of the walls of his past, cook every meal from scratch with him, and probably nag him for putting the dishes on the drying rack, because Ned  _ always _ dried them by hand. They ended up with water stains otherwise.

As he sat at the isle planning his shopping list like he always did, he found that he didn’t have much of an appetite. Maybe this is what Darcy meant when he said he was too stressed to eat.

He wanted Conor there, to actually see him navigate the hallways and square footage of his childhood home, but he couldn’t let himself regret coming back on his own quite yet. He needed time to think, to ruminate in his rattled heart without anyone else to look after. 

What a strange thing it was, how often he always wondered about the whereabouts and well-being on his very own Conor Masters. It didn’t matter where he was or what he was doing, Ned always found his mind drifting to his partner, thinking about how his classes were going, if they’d find time for homework on any given night or if he’d be hungry before they went to bed.

 

By the time early evening snatched away the sunlight outside, there was absolutely nothing left in the house to be done, but Ned thought he’d combust if he sat still for more than ten seconds at a time. He could go on a walk, but the possibility of running into any of his neighbors sounded like a punishment, especially when his mouth seemed to have sown itself shut since the previous night. He’d already said more than he ever wanted to within the last twenty-four hours.

Luckily, he no longer needed to suffer alone. His phone pinged at him and he nearly jumped out of his skin. He’d tried to get his mind to shy away from the thought of Conor calling him through his housekeeping ministrations, and now he eyed his phone across the room warily, as though it would come flying at him if he ignored it any longer. 

 

_ 6:34 pm _

_ Darcy: Facetime me immediately. _

 

_ Me: So demanding _

 

_ Darcy: Neddddddddd _

  
  


Ned rolled his eyes at nobody and grudgingly accepted the feeling of gratitude welling up inside him as he propped his phone up on the kitchen island. He was first greeted by his best friend’s most skeptical face. The two had gotten to know each other well enough that Ned considered himself somewhat of an expert on the many subtle facial expressions of one Darcy Lynch. There was skeptical-amused, which was usually reserved for Wally, skeptical-pleased when the rugby team had won one of their previous matches, and skeptical-worried, which he wore when he looked at Ned in the exact way he was right now. 

“Good evening," Ned said.

Darcy only raised one of his perfect eyebrows at the camera, one hand resting his chin and the other wrapped around a mug. 

“...How was your flight?” Ned asked, a little cautiously.

Darcy took a wordless sip.

“Berlin sounds just  _ lovely _ this time of year, don’t you think?”

He squinted, and Ned thought this conversation seemed awfully one-sided. “You didn’t want to video chat with me just so you could make eyebrows at me, did you?”

Another sip, both eyes directly on Ned. 

“What you got there?”

Darcy smacked his lips and finally replied, “Coke.”

Who drank soda from a mug? “And…?”

“And the tea you’re about to spill, obviously.”

Ned suddenly wished he had something else to look at. “I would’ve told you if you hadn’t left so early this morning.”

Darcy gave him an incredulous look. “Okay, one, I had an early flight, and two, you absolutely would not have! You didn’t say a word after I graciously let you into my room last night, and Wally told me that you didn’t say anything to him, either.”

Ned decided to ignore this. “Squint at me much more and you’re gonna get premature wrinkles. I trust Wally got home alright, too?” Even though it’d been less than a full day since the group parted ways for the week, he felt guilty that, as far as he knew, none of them had checked in on each other yet. With everything going on, he certainly wasn’t going to be the first to do so.

“I suppose, but I have too many of you to keep tabs on right now. Anyway, cut the small talk, Edwin. What happened? You of all people don’t come barging into my room, looking like you just lost a fight with the devil and go home alone after forcing me to listen to your plans for spring break.”

Ned scoffed. “Oh, I did not  _ barge in, _ thank you very much. I politely asked, and you and Wally were happy to oblige.”

Darcy didn’t narrow his eyes at this, so maybe Ned had proven a point, even just a little one. “Well, I’m not happy to listen to you dodge the question.” He said. His expression left no room for argument, and Ned knew he finally had to concede. After telling Darcy to hold on so he could make some tea to give himself an idea of self control, he prepared himself to recall the events of one of the most crushing nights of his life. 

“To put it simply, we had a row.”

“There’s nothing simple about it. You’ve been together for, what, six months now? And you’re like, the most sickenly sweet couple I’ve ever seen in my life- besides Wally and Sarah- so I doubt it’s for no reason.”

He knew there was nothing in the world that he couldn’t tell Darcy, but Ned just hadn’t had enough time to  _ think _ on his own. He’d spent the entire day trying to distract himself, and he didn’t even want to be ready to talk about the sinking feeling in his stomach yet. “When did my life become a public spectacle?”

“When you decided to  _ actually  _ barge into my room and grill me about Victor that one time.” Darcy said.

What a night to remember. “Speaking of Victor, when are you going to stop hazing him?”

Darcy leaned dramatically back in his chair, slapping his hands over his face as though he’d collided with something in slow motion. “Edwin Roche, I swear to God...there’s only one person in this group who gets to be a stubborn bastard, and that title belongs to me. Just tell me what’s going on, because believe it or not,  _ I love you _ and I want to help as much as I can.”

With a sip of his own, Ned let the words fall from his mouth. It started slow, with a lot of pauses and heavy sighs, but soon enough, every moment of the previous night became crystal clear, and he recalled the weighted events as quickly as they’d happened.

He told Darcy everything, from what was swarming in his mind like a colony of angry wasps, to what he had yet to think about for himself. He told him about the ‘intervention’ with Doran, how sudden it was and how much it tore him to trembling pieces to know that no matter how hard he tried, he and Conor had been found out. How he’d run into Weasel on their floor and just  _ knew _ that he had something to do with it. How he spat confessions out to Conor like poison, the things that he’d never found the time to explain properly, everything he endured to keep their relationship a secret, what Conor didn’t realize because it was impossible to just  _ know. _ He’d said some things that he didn’t even mean and now had no clue why he said them at all, and how he’d hardly been so angry in his life. That the first thing Conor suggested was that they deny it, and even though it was the most logical option, it broke Ned’s heart to hear; and to top it all off, finally telling his boyfriend that he loved him at the worst possible moment.

Darcy listened to his every word, and though his cheeks became progressively rosier with every swig he took, his eyes remained sharp and attentive as ever. 

“And, I dunno, when he told me that he’s under so much pressure to be this perfect athlete so we’d be left alone because  _ I outed him, _ it made me feel so much worse, but it was like I didn’t want to stop being angry. I was just saying shit to piss him off at that point, cause he works so hard on being calm and collected now, and I feel like I took that away from him,  _ again. _ ”

Darcy looked into his mug, and, apparently upon seeing it empty, sighed. “That’s some shit.”

Ned put his face in his hands. “I know, and I don’t even know who to be pissed at first; Doran, Weasel, myself, or Conor, but I don’t know if it’s even  _ okay _ to be upset with him.” It felt so good to get all of this off his chest, confiding in someone who had nothing to do with the situation, but who genuinely cared. It was new, and it helped ease the weight off his shoulders.

Darcy bit his lip thoughtfully. “Obviously I’m not the best person to go to when it comes to talking shit out, but...has he tried to talk to you since then?”

“No, and I’m not sure if I’m ready to hear from him yet. He always needs space to think things through anyway, so I think it’ll be awhile.”

“Not before break is over though, right? I mean, if you want take it bit by bit, you gotta figure this out before we get back to school. Besides, you absolutely  _ cannot _ break up with him; it’d ruin the whole group dynamic!” Darcy said, and Ned wanted to glare at him for this, but seeing the miniscule upturn of his lips, he found himself smirking back.

“Nah, I’m not breaking up with him. I love him too much.” A sudden thought struck him then, one that drained all the color from his body. “Oh my God, is he gonna break up with  _ me? _ I was in such a foul mood last night that I was being a complete ass. Hell,  _ I’d _ break up with me after something like that…”

“Okay, Ned, calm down. I’m being such a hypocrite, but you just gotta talk to him. I can’t even imagine what sort of disaster he’d be if you broke up.” In response to the look on Ned’s face, he continued with fervor. “Seriously, he acts like a lost puppy if you aren’t in the immediate vicinity, and it’s  _ disgusting. _ So I don’t think you have anything to worry about in that respect.”

“Sure, in  _ that _ in respect…”

“One thing at a time. Make up with him, and then you can worry about Weasel.”

Ned put his elbows on the counter, a fierce determination striking up with him to change the subject and give his best friend a taste of his own advice. “Speaking of ‘ruining the group dynamic,’ you plaster saint, you’re contractually obligated to speak to Victor again.”

Darcy rolled his eyes and vanished from the screen, but Ned knew he wouldn’t scare that easy. He returned with his mug, settling in. “I don’t remember signing any sort of contract, Edwin.”

“I’m not kidding. I have to fix my relationship with Conor, and you have to fix yours with Victor. How long do you think you can keep skirting around each other like this? It’s exhausting.”

Darcy shrugged like this didn’t bother him in the slightest. “Until he graduates, then I never have to see him again.”

“He’s not letting any of us get away that easy and you know it. You like him for a reason, and acting like he barely exists isn’t going to help you get over him.” Ned said, losing track of how many times they’d had this discussion.

_ “Uuugh, _ stop being right, Ned, it’s so irritating.”

“What’s irritating is everybody knowing that you have feelings for him and seeing you do nothing about it!”

Darcy slammed the mug down with a little more force than necessary. “I’m doing the only thing I can think of, which is getting over him.”

Ned did everything he could to stop himself from rolling eyes. “Yeah, right,” He mumbled.

Darcy pouted, which was a rare sight. “I’m  _ trying. _ It’s not my fault he’s so perfect. And before you say something stupid, what would be the point in telling him? He already knows, and if he doesn’t say anything, there’s nothing to be done.”

Ned wanted to pry open the possibility of Victor not knowing, but the chances were paper thin. Like, he could cut himself on his friend’s obviousness. Maybe Victor wouldn’t have a clue if Darcy didn’t treat him like a virus to be avoided at all costs, but Ned wasn’t about to tell him that. “Just...give him a chance, will you? He definitely cares about you, and it would put everyone at ease if you’d just  _ try.  _ Who knows? You might even get over him faster if you just let things go back to normal.”

Darcy looked to the side, thankfully seeming to consider Ned’s words. “...Fine. Only so we can move on and never speak of this time in my life ever again.”

Ned let himself really smirk this time. “You’re joking if you think I’m ever letting you live this down.”

“Forget what I said earlier; I hate you.”

“Love you too, Darce.”

  
  


* * *

 

Conor lay face down on his bed, wondering if his body would eventually become one with the comforter, sealed together by mold or something if he wanted it bad enough, or if he’d suffocate into his pillows first. Either one felt like a reasonable option. 

The crushing weight on his being was only getting heavier, and he hadn’t moved from this spot since he returned home earlier the previous day. If home felt foreign before, it was positively extraterrestrial now. He’d spoken to his mother when he walked in the door, effectively scaring the living shit out of her, but he couldn’t remember how he had explained his sudden arrival without giving too much away. 

If he had been in any other state than utterly despondent, he might have noticed that she seemed to be in higher spirits than usual, with a distinct clarity shining softly in her eyes.

But no, Conor had sulked up the stairs and slammed his body down on his bed like a petulant thunderstorm without bothering to unpack or even take off his shoes. The light faded, shined through his window suddenly when he woke up without recalling falling asleep, and promptly dimmed again. He felt pathetic, and like a prisoner. A pathetic prisoner. 

His phone never left his hand, clutched in his fingers like an electronic lifeline, but it was also a ticking time bomb; one that pretended to go off whenever it was only Wally or Victor that texted him, and weakly threatened to detonate whenever he looked at it with the hopes of a call from Ned. Conor couldn’t,  _ couldn’t _ reach out to him, the one person on earth that he wanted to talk to, but he also didn’t have the strength to fling his phone across the room.

It felt like years had passed since he last spoke to Ned, and he so desperately wanted to, but he was paralyzed by his own conflict and indecision. Was it too soon, or too late? When was the right time you were supposed to talk to your boyfriend after a fight? And he couldn’t think of a single thing to say. Well, no, he could, but he wouldn’t know where to start, and nothing felt right over the phone.

His mother had come up the stairs to knock on his door three times so far, asked if he wanted anything to eat (with an increasing amount of worry,) but Conor ignored her. Maybe if he pretended to vanish into the atmosphere, it would actually happen. He hadn’t heard Harris in the house, but his father was the furthest thing from his mind.

He tried to lay down his emotions like a mental diagram, but none of it could be so easily organized. He felt guilty, for making Ned feel insignificant, for breaking the damn that had been ready to burst since they got called into Doran’s office, for never knowing what his boyfriend was going through, and for never thinking to ask. He felt angry, for what Ned said and the way he said it. Conor never thought Ned could sound so...spiteful, never to him. He’d made Conor feel small, the way he picked apart their relationship and separate statuses with a few biting sentences.

But should he really feel angry, when all of it was true? They  _ were _ different, and everyone knew it. It was why Conor’s teammates once assumed that he would shun Ned in the same ways that they did, and why it had been so easy to push him away when he was frightened. They were different from one another, and that was why others treated them as such.

That wasn’t right, though, because their differences were what made Conor fall in love with him. Ned opened up new doors and pathways within Conor that he never would’ve thought to look for, he continued to open Conor’s eyes when he’d convinced himself that he had seen the world exactly as it would always be. Empty, angry, and terrifying.

It was something, a shimmering light in all of this darkness. Ned loved him too, and Conor was supposed to feel like he was on top of the world. But that light was distant and wavering, because he never got to say it back.

And oh God,  _ what _ were they going to do about Doran? Thinking back on it, he’d said that he wouldn’t have known if ‘others’ didn’t worry about them, too. It was plain that someone had told him, and Conor knew that there was only one person who would go to such lengths to take something away from them. But there was nothing to be done, not when he felt so disconnected to Ned. Conor couldn’t think about the situation, the probability of not waking up with his extraordinary boyfriend wrapped around him like vines on a fence, until he knew that Ned still wanted him.

Of course he did, right? Conor had just fucked up, said the wrong thing at the worst time because he just  _ wasn’t ready to think yet. _ All he had wanted to do was escape to the (now temporary) safety and solace of their room, to hide under the covers like they always did and pretend that everything was going to be alright before coming up with some kind of...plan, perhaps. The rational and more morose part of him told him that it wasn’t just that, however; Conor was wrong because he let himself ignore the rest of the world, all of its problems and the way it looked at them because Ned made it so easy.

He could spend the rest of his days hiding, living in the sanctuary that was  _ their _ room, because as long as he had Ned, nothing else mattered.

  
  


* * *

 

Conor was once again thrust into consciousness by a loud  _ slam _ of the front door downstairs. His first thought was taken to wondering how he could sleep so much without ever remembering falling asleep, only to wake up even more exhausted.

His next thought was, wait, something was  _ absolutely _ not right.

There were muffled shouts coming from the first floor that increased in volume and frequency, and Conor suddenly realized that the house was much more quiet than he’d ever heard it over the last two days. He hadn’t heard anything but his mother moving around the house; no evidence of fighting, crying, or swearing, and now that he noticed, it had actually sounded...peaceful.

Conor looked to his phone for the time, and the late hour only made him more nervous. He jumped out of bed, his legs almost giving out from disuse, and threw his door open.

“It’s  _ my fuckin’ house! _ I’ll come and go as I damn well please!”

“You can’t ‘come and go,’ Harris, I kicked you out! There’s nothing here that belongs to you anymore.”

His father’s voice drifted up the stairs and Conor began to shake.

“You’re here, my _son_ is here! Come on, Lynn, we just had a row! This is my family-”

“I’m not fighting with you anymore. I want...I want my life back! I can’t wait for my husband to come home-”

“Hon, I’m here now-”

There was a faint thud of something hitting what was possibly the countertop. “That’s not what I mean! I don’t know who you are anymore, where you go, who you’re with...you could have another family by now for how often you’re gone.” Lynn’s voice quivered. “I’m not arguing with you ever again, and I already asked you to leave when I packed up all your...all of your  _ shit.” _

Conor was frozen underneath his door frame, feeling as helpless as he was sitting alone in his room, while his mum had been just as lonely.

Harris’ voice was a dangerous thunder, “I’m not leavin’, Lynn.”

“Well I am! I- I already sent the papers to my lawyer and...and it’s happening. I can’t live like this anymore-”

“Then call your fuckin’ lawyer and tell him to cut it out! Shred that shit for all I care, cause you’re my  _ wife! _ This is my house-  _ our _ house, and you know I love you! Conor’s our son, how do you think he’ll feel-

Lynn laughed, but it was ugly, full of manic resentment. “ _ Ha! _ Don’t pretend that you care about this family when I’ve been holding it together for  _ years _ by myself. When was the last time you spoke to Janey-”

“This isn’t about that girl-”

“Yes it is! How can you say you care about our family when you forget about our oldest child? She’s been here for me more than my own husband, and she’s thousands of miles away.”

Harris’ voice started to tremble as well, but it didn’t hold the fear that his wife’s did. “She...she talked you into this, didn’t she? She told you to leave me and tear this family apart, just like she left us to-”

“Maybe she did, but this is my-”

_ CRASH! _ The sound of glass hitting the wall shook Conor out of his horrified stupor, and before he could even think, he flew down the stairs as fast as his legs would take him. He only saw Harris gripping his mother’s wrist, still in her pyjamas, before Conor saw red. His dad couldn’t take a second glance at him until Conor threw himself at the man, pushing him towards the front door.

It all happened so fast, and maybe if Conor was lucky he wouldn’t entirely remember it. His fist connected with his father's jaw, Harris shouted, Lynn screamed, and maybe he was screaming too.

This was fighting, this is what Conor knew.

Harris put both hands on his son’s shoulders to throw him off, his lip bleeding, but Conor was tired. Tired of the long nights, the countless fights, his mother’s tears. Tired of being a helpless child who couldn’t do a thing to keep  _ anything _ together, tired of hiding for the approval of a man who didn’t deserve it, but with this one thing that he knew- he had the energy to do best. He put his right foot behind him to steady himself, grabbed Harris’ right wrist, and threw a right hook hard enough to give his own father a black eye for the road.

“ _ Christ, _ Conor, stop!” Lynn shouted, her voice more frightened than he ever wanted to hear. Conor was so angry, so frustrated, but he just couldn’t let her hurt anymore. As Harris stumbled back, clutching his face, Conor skirted behind him and yanked open the front door. He gripped the back of Harris’ shirt collar and tossed his considerable build out on the front porch.

Harris gave him such a look of betrayal, but Conor knew he would never,  _ never, _ come to regret this. “Don’t you fucking _ ever _ come back!” His voice tore through his throat, and he hoped Harris would finally get the message that he was no longer wanted, no longer needed in their family. Maybe he was when he’d been a different person, but things...change. They change without warning or permission, and all Conor could do was change himself along with them. His family was broken and Conor hated himself for letting everything go so far, for allowing himself to sit back and listen to the constant screaming that he tried so hard to forget.

And without another look, he slammed the door on everything he thought he once knew. A ringing silence followed, only punctuated by his own breathing and Lynn’s quiet sobs. He glanced at her once, and before he could mumble an apology he didn’t mean, she threw her arms around him. 

“C-Conor, love...I’m so- I’m so  _ sorry.” _

He hugged her back just as tightly and felt some of the energy drain from his body. “It’s fine now.” He hoped. “He’s not coming back.”

  
  


* * *

 

Conor stuck around for another forty-five minutes or so, making tea for his mother and checking the windows every few minutes to make sure that they really were alone. He swept the shattered glass off the floor and joined her at the dining room table. She looked so...so defeated, and Conor felt guilty that he’d ignored her since he came back, choosing instead to waste away in his own room. Her trembling had subsided, but she looked so much older than she was, only gazing blankly at the wooden surface, and Conor’s heart broke.

“You should get some sleep.” He quietly suggested.

She took another sip, the rings around her eyes becoming slightly more prevalent. “Perhaps...Conor, I’m so sorry that you’ve had to see that all this time. No child should ever have to witness their parents fighting.” Her voice was hollow.

He didn’t really know what to say. “It’s fine, I’m just sorry you’ve had to endure it for so long. You’re doing the right thing, kicking him out and ending it. You don’t have to worry about it anymore.”

She patted his hand on the table, but didn’t say anything more.

Conor took a deep breath. “So, mum...there’s something I’ve gotta do now. I don’t feel good about you being by yourself, but I need to leave for a while. Do you have anyone who could come by for you?” He really, really didn’t want to leave her by herself again, but after days of doing nothing but worry, he couldn’t sit still any longer.

Lynn finally looked up, furrowing her brows, but she looked too tired to argue. “Yes...I could call your aunt in the morning.”

He inwardly breathed a sigh of relief and stood up to prompt her out of her chair. Before he could convince her to go to bed, she hugged him again. “Thank you.” She whispered, and Conor tried his damndest to stay strong for her.

“No problem.” That seemed a little strange to say, but he couldn’t think of anything else. “Call me of he shows up again, okay?”

  
  


Once his mum was in bed and he did a final check of all the windows, Conor grabbed his phone, wallet, and jacket, and headed towards the door. 

When he was outside in the cold,  _ early _ morning, and he’d been walking long enough to set his head straight, figuring out how exactly he was going to get to Ned’s house at this hour, Conor’s phone was already in his hand and dialing the number before he could think twice.

He figured that he needed to talk to  _ someone _ before he did this, and who better than a friend he’d been ignoring since he left campus?

_ “Conor?!” _ Victor yelled into the phone, causing Conor to hold it at a distance from his ear to save himself the headache.

“Yeah...what’s up?” What was he supposed to say?

_ “Why the fuck are you calling me right now? Where have you been? What’s going on?” _

Conor almost wanted to laugh at Victor’s sleep-worn stream of questions. Maybe he needed a sliver of normalcy more than he would’ve thought. “I, er...I punched my dad.”

_ “WHAT?!” _

“Yep...I don’t really know why I called you.”

_ “Ah...okay, shit. Where are you?” _

“I’m on my way to Ned’s.”

There was a fraction of silence, and Conor could almost see the look on Victor’s face.  _ “Oh...kay? Jesus, I feel like I’m missing a lot...what are you gonna do? You’re going to make up with him, right? What are you gonna say?” _

Conor took a deep breath, finally catching sight of the late-night bus terminal. “Ya know, I’ve spent a lot of fucking time tryin’ to figure that out. If I can’t come up with anything now, I’m just gonna wing it.”

Victor chuckled through the static.  _ “Alright, man. That’s almost like a plan. So you’re just gonna knock on his door in the middle of the night and hope everything works out?” _

“Pretty much.”

_ “Okay, then. Well, thanks for letting at least one of us know you’re not dead.” _

They’d see about that. Conor wanted to worry, about how Ned would react or what either of them would end up saying, but he was too far gone to fret. Too tired and too desperate to hold on to one of the only things that he knew was worth keeping.

  
  


* * *

 

Two days. Two  _ entire _ days since Ned has last heard from his (hopefully still) boyfriend, and yes, he also hadn’t made any attempt at contact, and he realized that he should actually apologize first, but really, what was taking Conor so long? After his first phone call with Darcy, Ned tried to get back into his old routine. He started and couldn’t finish his books, he zoned out with Netflix as background noise, he’d gone on a couple walks and attempted to dust the entirety of the ceiling. 

What was this silence stretching on so long for? Were his own fears being realized, and Conor had actually decided to break up with him? After the way Ned acted, maybe he shouldn’t have been surprised. Why hadn’t he apologized already? Was it too late?

As he twisted and turned in his bed on night two, he finally decided. Tomorrow would be the day that he reached out to Conor, to say everything he needed to say without destroying everything he’d spent months building up. He’d finally make things right, because living with his tumbling heart for this long (forty-eight hours) was far too much for him to handle.

  
  


_ Ring...ring...ring...riiiiiiiing…. _

It was one of those times where sound from the waking world bled into his dreams, and it took much longer than usual for Ned to realize that the ringing sound was surely not in his head. He pried his eyes open to the dimmest light flooding into his room, only adding to his confusion.

Was that...the door? It wasn’t like he heard it all that often, but there wasn’t anything else it could be. The sun had hardly risen; who would be ringing him at this hour? He squirmed in his sheets, willing his body to catch up with his mind and just make the sound  _ stop, _ whoever was causing it.

_ Ring, ring, ring… _ this time followed by a series of frantic knocks. It couldn’t be any of his neighbors, not unless the whole neighborhood had decided to burst into flames and he just hadn’t noticed yet. Was it Victor again, finally sick of the dramatic silence that fell over the group since his and Conor’s fight?

_ Ring, riiiing… _ Okay, now it was really time to get up, otherwise he’d develop an early morning headache, and he just couldn’t deal with a day-long migraine to top it all off.

So with the utmost effort, clutching his head to shield it from the doorbell that he’d be uninstalling after this, Ned climbed out of bed, swaying slightly as he made his way through the corridor and down the stairs. If whoever it was had a problem with him answering in nothing but his sweater and boxer briefs, they’d just have to deal with it.

“Alright,  _ shit,  _ I’m coming!”

Too sleepy to bother looking through the glass on either side of the door, Ned blearily unlocked it and threw it open with a generous amount of disdain.

His irritation vanished. There...there was Conor, right on his doorstep, his breath vaporizing in the cold air and shaking just slightly. Ned couldn’t feel the chill.

_ Oh my God. _

“Oh my God.” Ned said.

Was it possible for Conor’s presence to feel like the first breath of fresh air after drowning, in a span of such little time? It felt like forever, so Ned didn’t care. Conor didn’t look great, that much was certain. His hair was disheveled and cheeks flushed with exertion- did he run here? On his face was a whole series of emotions, only a couple that Ned could pinpoint. Exhaustion, anxiety, and...something else.

Conor seemed to take his first deep inhale in hours. Ned was stunned, completely plastered to the door frame in shock and disbelief. Conor looked like he was thinking about what to say, his thoughts and words teeming behind his eyes, and Ned could only wait.

“Shit, Ned...I’m so sorry.”

Ned’s fingers twitched, as though they too missed Conor’s company. Truthfully, it didn’t matter what either of them said in that moment, whether Conor wanted to apologize or what he even wanted to apologize for; Ned just wanted to  _ touch _ him.

Like he was checking to make sure that he wasn’t still dreaming, Ned raised a tentative (and probably trembling) hand to Conor’s cheek, his entire being lighting up with the warmth of his partner’s skin. He suddenly wasn’t so tired.

Ned could only manage to whisper, “It’s like...five in the morning.” God, he was really here.

Conor finally leaned into the touch. “Yeah, I know.”

He wanted to cry, to let his relief leave is body in a tidal wave, but he didn’t. Instead, he took one of Conor’s hands that had clenched itself into a half-hearted fist and gently tugged, leading him inside.

Jesus, this was something straight out of a romance novel, and Ned was absolutely at a loss for what to do. All he knew was that Conor was real, Conor was  _ here, _ in his house like he was supposed to be. Ned led him to the couch and wordlessly left to set the kettle for coffee, his hands shaking and breath rattling out of his lungs. His head was spinning. Where were they supposed to go from here? Ned reminded himself that Conor wouldn’t have beaten down his door before the sun had risen just to break up with him. Right?

The air was painfully tense, but Ned couldn’t go another second without a cup of coffee and a chance to fucking  _ breathe. _ He spooned coffee grounds into the french press, poured the boiling water in counter-clockwise like he always did, and stirred the grounds in the opposite direction with a knife.  _ Conor was HERE, _ sitting on his couch and it was like they were both waiting for the world to end. Ned would be impressed by the situation if he had a sense of humor.

Coffee prepared at last, Ned padded over to the couch as silently as he could. He didn’t know why, but it felt like the right thing to do, and he’d kill a man for some sense of reality. He set the press on the coffee table and finally turned.

Conor, to put it simply, looked destroyed. Ned had never seen him look so stressed, worn like old leather with circles under his eyes as if he hadn’t slept in days. What had happened in the two days since everything seemed to fall apart? Perhaps Ned should’ve put some pants on, but it was too late to turn back now, and he was too busy teeming with excitement and anxiety to be embarrassed.

While Ned had been in the kitchen, Conor was sitting forward with his elbows on his knees, facing the table, and now he finally shifted to look at him. Ned raised his eyebrows a fraction of a centimeter, the confusion no doubt evident on his face, and Conor sighed. 

The silence was deadly.

Conor bit his lip and broke the tension. “It...feels like I’ve been thinking forever about what to say, but I still can’t think of anything to sum it all up, ya know? How...how can everything go wrong in like, ten seconds?” He took a long moment to breathe and collect his thoughts. He looked so scattered, and Ned wanted to hold him. 

“But...maybe it’s better if shit hits the fan really quickly, rather than over a long time. I’ve been trying to understand everything that’s been going on, and how I feel about it all. I’m still angry- about a lot of things, even when I don’t want to be. And I can’t just ignore the things that make me feel like this and expect them to go away. I’ve been hiding...from everything, even when I thought I’d finally stopped...and I’m sad, because I feel like I lost everything. And I’m so confused, because how can I be upset with someone that I care so much about? I’m also pissed at myself,” He looked Ned directly in the eye, and Ned could see it, all of his tumultuous emotions. “Because I made you feel like you weren’t worth keepin’ it together.”

Ned’s heart rose to the base of his throat, and Conor pulled his legs up on the couch to face him directly. “If I’ve learned  _ anything _ over the past few months, it’s that anything that makes me feel like you do are worth holding on to for as long as I can. I’m angry, but more than that, I just can’t imagine my life without you in it, exactly as we are. It doesn’t matter who knows, or what we have to do. I love you, Ned, and it doesn’t matter if I’ve gotta fight forever to keep you around, I’ll do it.”

Ned’s breath rattled in his chest, and he could hardly breathe, let alone speak. He knew Conor loved him, throughout every lingering look, gentle touch, and quiet moment in their room, but this, hearing Conor say it for the first time, was everything. Conor could be angry for as long as he needed to, and Ned would take full responsibility as long as he could hear Conor say it, again and again.

He softly took Conor’s hand, looking into his eyes all the while. “I know I’m the one who should apologize first. I said some really shitty things, most of them I didn’t even mean. I’ve never- I’ve never gone off like that before, and I wish I could take it all back. You mean the world to me, Conor, and I was just so fed up with everyone trying to take that away. All that shit I said about everybody else, it was all I meant to say earlier, but I suppose I just never found the time, cause we were so happy.” He touched the side of Conor’s face again, unbridled joy and remorse sparking from his fingertips as he ran them through his hair. “You make me so happy, and I’m sorry that I said you don’t change it, cause you’ve changed my life more than I can even comprehend.”

Conor leaned in, and Ned felt like he could float up to the ceiling. He held Ned’s hand with his right and whispered, “I love you so much, don’t forget that.”

Ned felt a smile creep up on him. “I love you, too.” They kissed, for the thousandth time and for the first all over again, and though there was an entire world that they couldn’t ignore waiting for them outside, they couldn’t hide it. This feeling was ethereal, completely unmatched by any other, and Ned would take on anyone who stood in their way before letting it slip away again.

It was soft, chaste, and full of words to come. Ned pressed their foreheads together, and for the first time since Conor’s arrival, looked down at his hands; large, warm, and strong and...bruised? He looked up in confusion, and the look on his face must’ve asked the question for him, because Conor looked away. “I...got in a fight.”

Ned leaned back in surprise. “What? With who?” He knew there was an underlying meaning to Conor’s words, something deeper left unspoken, but this was tangible.

“My dad came home late last night, and he and my mum were goin’ at it. Turns out she kicked him out, and she’s leaving him. It went south, and I guess I just snapped.” Ned kissed him again, as though this simple action could make everything Conor had gone through sting a little less. “But ya know,” Conor said, imperceptibly pulling back, “I’m really not sorry for it.”

Ned didn’t know what to say, whether to praise him or feel sorry for him, so he did what he knew best, and climbed into Conor’s lap, wrapping his arms around his neck. “Then I’m not sorry either.” He whispered against his hair. “I’ve missed you so much…”

Conor accepted him immediately, running his hands smoothly up and down Ned’s back, and this, this was home. “I missed you too, and I’m not lettin’ you go.”

They sat like that for a while, just breathing in each other’s scents and living in one another’s company. After a few minutes, he felt Conor rumble against his chest, “I can’t believe I’m in your house…”

“Mhm,” Ned smiled and kissed him because he would never be able to get enough, a little more insistently this time. Here they both were, loving each other in a house teeming with the possibility of new memories and absolute freedom. “Just you and me, Masters.”

Conor gripped him tighter, and with the sun finally beginning to rise, bit Ned’s bottom lip. “Sounds perfect.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly though, I've been working on this chapter for like two months, and it's been kind of a struggle? I don't know if it's writer's block or what, but still not %100 happy with it. Is it me? Did I forget how to write? Either way, I'm gonna give this fic a conclusion if it kills me. Speaking of which, we're almost at the end! I never would've thought that I would have so many ideas from this amazing little movie, but here we are.
> 
> I'm really sorry that I haven't gotten around to answering all of your comments, but just know that I appreciate all of them! Your feedback keeps me so motivated to keep going, and I don't know what I'd do without all of my wonderful readers <3
> 
> Also you'll notice that I didn't write any journal entries for Ned in this one. I wanted to, but I just couldn't think of anything for him to say other than what's obvious, ya know? Sorry about that, there should be some in the next chapter!
> 
> As a sorry for all the angst, look forward to an awful amount of tooth-rotting fluff for the next chapter ;)


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